Blood, White, and Blue
by Bad Company
Summary: Set 14 years pre-series. From Glasgow street thug, to Jackie-boy's biggest ally in the MC world, my take on Filip's journey to becoming the Chibs we all know and love. Chibs/OC
1. Guns and Gloves

**Blood, White and Blue**

By Bad Company

Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own the Sons, Charming, or any other of Kurt Sutter's diabolical creations. Also I'll explain the title. The Scottish flag is blue and white, and as for blood, well, the Sons can't seem to keep things clean.

**AN: Hey, everyone! I'm back, this time taking a crack at a Chibs-centric fic. I apologize in advance if my "Scots" isn't so great. The show website is sketchy on the details of Chibs' past, so I took a lot of liberties to say the least. And I was excited to write the others in a time when they were happier and more united. I wanted this story to be lighter than ****Get out Alive****, and I think I did ok. It seems I can't write an SOA fic without incorporating everyone – just sometimes I get frustrated that there are so many damn characters on this show! Fun to watch, difficult to use all of them when I write.**

**Rambling done. Please read, enjoy, and let me know how I'm doing.**

**________________________________________________________________________**

**Chapter 1: Guns and Gloves**

**Present Day ( set during ep. 1.07 "the Pull")**

"I think he's gettin' tired," Jax said, waving toward the Prospect with the end of his lit cigarette.

As if on cue, Half-Sack failed to clear the jump rope on its next pass, tripped, and fell flat on his face on the concrete.

Tig burst into hysterical laughter and Jax tried to hide his own grin.

"Awww, c'mon, Prospect," Chibs groaned. "You're makin' me look bad."

"Look, I think he's gonna cry!" Tig managed between laughing fits.

Half-Sack shot all them 'hope you die' looks as he scrambled back to his feet. "Fuck y'all," he muttered.

"What was that?" Clay asked, arching his brows over the rims of his shades. "Fuck who?"

"Oh, um…" the Prospect paled and started twisting the rope between his hands nervously. "Not you…I didn't…I mean…not fuck _you_, Clay."

"Mother of Christ, kid," Chibs muttered, finally getting to his feet. "Get yer arse in the ring and shut the hell up." He ran a hand through his goatee and offered an apologetic shrug to Clay. "I keep thinkin' he'll get smarter…"

Clay chuckled once the kid was out of earshot. "As long as he brings home the cash, I don't care if he's Forrest fuckin' Gump."

"Aye."

Juice stepped out of the clubhouse. "Did I imagine it or did -,"

"The Sack eat it up? Oh yeah," Tig said. "Full-on face-plant, man."

"Damn, I missed it," Juice muttered taking Chibs' abandoned spot on the picnic table. "Do you think I could get him to do it again?"

"Hey, Prospect!" Tig called.

Clay shook his head. "Naw, leave him alone, he's gotta win after all."

They all glanced to where Half-Sack was now dancing around the ring by himself, throwing punches at imagined opponents.

"Hey," a thought struck Jax. "Chibs, why don't you get in the ring with him?"

"No way," the Scot shook his head emphatically. "I'm fifteen years and thirty pounds past that point, fellas."

"Come on," Jax smiled, liking the idea. "It's good practice for the little dipshit, let him deal with a _real _hook and not some junkie."

"Hold on," Juice leaned forward on his elbows, peering around Tig. "You used to fight?"

"No, he used to _slaughter_," Jax corrected. "You shoulda seen him back in the day."

Juice looked over at Chibs disbelieving. "No way."

Jax chuckled. "_Way_. How'd you think Tig got so ugly?"

The Sgt at Arms sneered. "Broke my nose, like, fifteen fucking times. Asshole."

"Oh," Chibs cracked a grin. "I remember that night…what was it you said?"

Tig folded his arms and frowned.

"Something about a 'kilt wearing pussy' if I recall," Jax said, grinning widely.

"That's right," Clay chuckled. "Fuck the Prospect, let's see a rematch."

Juice stood. "Okay, so hold on, Chibs was a boxer?"

"What the fuck have we been telling you?" Tig snapped. "Fucking idiot."

The younger man ignored him. "Oh, I _gotta _hear this story."

"Mother of Christ," Chibs muttered. "See what you've done?" he fired a look at Jax over the rims of his shades. "You won't ever get him to shut up now, Jackie-boy."

"It's a'ight," Jax snuffed out his cigarette and resettled his position on the empty keg. "It's a good story…"

**1994**

**December**

"One of my friends from English class, you know, Macy? Her parents are out of town for the weekend and she's throwing an early Christmas party tonight," Tara said, giving him _that _look; the one that invited underage keggers, bad pop music, and possibly getting to third base on someone else's couch. He had to admit that the offer was sorely tempting, but duty called.

"I can't," he released the smoke from his lungs slowly, hoping no one would notice it. "Me and Ope have a thing tonight."

"Oh." She looked crestfallen and he felt instantly guilty. "Club stuff?"

"Yeah."

She frowned and drew her knees up under her chin, feet propped on the seat of their bench. "I'm not sure I like all this responsibility shit, Jax. You never have time for us."

"Hey," he drew her eyes and flashed a cocky grin. "We have the rest of out lives for 'us'. So I miss one party, you can get hammered and do karaoke by yourself just this once."

She grinned at that. "I expect to get compensated for my understanding."

"You will." He kissed her, deeper and harder than he should have out in front of the school. It didn't go unnoticed.

Someone of undetermined gender cleared his or her throat loudly. They both turned and froze like deer in headlights when they realized that Ms. Moody, the gym Nazi, was standing in front of their bench, beefy hands on her manly hips.

"Mr. Teller," she extended an open hand. "I'm just _sure _that isn't a cigarette in your hand."

"No ma'am," he flicked it over his shoulder and grinned. "Never."

"Because surely," she went on. "You wouldn't smoke after that fascinating lecture last week about the disastrous effects of lung cancer. Smoking will kill you, young man."

"So will obesity, but that doesn't seem to have stopped you," Tara said and Jax had to squelch his laugh behind his hand.

"Shit, Tara -,"

Ms. Moody hooked a hand around Tara's elbow and tugged her up off the bench. Her round face was turning thirteen different shades of red. "That's a week's detention for you, young lady!" she hissed. "Effective immediately!"

"Be careful tonight," Tara called over her shoulder as she was drug back toward the school. "I love you!"

"You too," he laughed. Damn, he didn't think they made women much better than that.

***

The advantage of being direct descendents of Sons was that you were never officially a Prospect. Jax and Opie had worn the 'Prospect' cuts for a while, but they'd never undergone the hazing and torture of most prospective members. Now, at seventeen, they were both full patch holders. They didn't have any sort of rank, and they got treated like kids, but it seriously beat the hell out of football, baseball, glee club…hell, anything else.

Jax sat with his best friend on the edge of the pool table in the clubhouse, nursing beers and watching the "adults" talk business.

"How soon do you think you'll have them here?" Clay asked, fixing their Irish visitor with a look that had forced info out of the most stoic of adversaries.

McKeevy shrugged and took another swig of his beer. "Five days or so. Maybe less depending on how tonight goes."

"What's tonight?" Otto asked over the rim of his coffee mug.

"I got a man in the fights over at Dawson's tonight. If he fights as well here as he does at home…well, some lads'll be missing noses and such."

"Why does that matter?" Clay asked.

McKeevy frowned. "I gotta pay off the port authority before they'll let me take the guns off the ship. Stupid buggers know what I got and know I can't do shit but pay up. I need tonight's winnings to break even." He looked down into his mug, swirling the contents. "But, since we're on the subject, I've been meaning to talk to you about my fighter."

Clay gave him a blank look.

"He supports the cause, but he ain't true IRA," McKeevy said. "He wants out of Belfast…been asking me about the Sons."

"How many Shamrocks you think we have around the table?" Otto asked, drawing chuckles from Clay and Kyle.

McKeevy shook his head. "He's Scottish, a real Glasgow slum dog, this one. He helped us out a while back, got himself court marshaled for it."

"So you gave him a job," Clay said.

"You could say that. He's half bodyguard, half prize-fighter. Got a mean swing, that one."

"What? He wants to be SAMCRO?" Kyle asked.

"Dunno," McKeevy shrugged. "But he's not settled with us, wants to move on."

"We've got room for a new prospect or two," Clay said. "But how does this help us?"

"I need someone over here to be on the US front," McKeevy said. " A go-between."

Clay made a face, catching on. "Oh, so I'm patching some…_Scottish_ asshole as what…a favor to you?"

McKeevy tilted his head. "It's just a business offering, he's the one who'll meet you at the ports in a few days. I thought I'd let you know he might be interested."

Jax was curious. "What time's the fight?" he asked, earning multiple stares. He shrugged. "I'm just curious. I might wanna check this guy out."

"Nine," McKeevy said, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips. "He's a good guy, Clay. Maybe a little crazy, but still…"

"I don't know," Clay said.

Otto shrugged. "We got nothing else to do tonight, might as well get in on some under the table fight action."

"Yeah," Kyle nodded.

"Fine," Clay held up his hands. "We'll go watch, but don't think I'll just agree to take your little outcast off your hands so easy."

McKeevy's smile suggested that Clay was crazy and it made Jax sit up a little straighter. "Oh, definitely not an outcast with this crowd, my friend. Besides," he glanced around the room and frowned. "Aren't you a few members short these days?"

Everyone cracked a grin and Clay wiped a tired hand down his chin. "Yeah, about that…"

***

Gemma felt her hands settle at their favorite position at her hips as she reached the reception desk at the Charming PD precinct.

The girl sitting behind it covered the phone receiver with a hand. "Evening, Mrs. Morrow. I assume you're here for to post bail?"

"Who else?" Gemma muttered. "I swear, I didn't sign on to raise more than one kid."

"Just a sec," the girl held up a finger.

Gemma dug around in her purse and came out with the requisite five hundred bucks. She'd been planning on using the money at the outlet mall in Pope, not springing two of her "Sons".

"Gemma," Unser stepped out of his office.

"Hey, Wayne," she entered the bullpen and joined the Chief as he waved he back toward the holding cells.

"I'm glad you showed up," he sighed. "The King and his lovely back-up singer have been 'serenading' the entire drunk tank." The hallway narrowed around them, the walls turned to bars, and then she could hear them.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, trying to suppress a smile. A familiar, deep voice was belting, or slurring rather, "Blue Christmas" in a perfect Elvis impersonation. His "back-up singer", however, was trying to do the _oooh-uh-oooh-uh-oooh _background melody with less grace than a dying cat. No one with a voice like that should even hum, let alone attempt to sing.

They rounded the corner and she saw Bobby slouched in the corner of one cell, arms flung wide as he paid tribute to the King. Tig was sprawled across the single bunk and earning a mixture of frightened and disgusted looks from the other three drunks in the cell. One guy actually had his hands over his ears.

"Alright, my Casanovas," Gemma said, rapping her rings against the bars. "Let's wrap up this little concert."

"Gemma!!" they both hollered in unison, staggering and nearly going back down before their feet had hit the floor.

"Hey, mother," Tig reached the front of the cell first and had to wrap his arms through the bars to stay upright.

She wrinkled her nose at the scent of alcohol on his breath. "Well, aren't you two just life of the talent show," she had trouble fighting off her grin. "Set up a tip jar next time – then I wouldn't have to come haul you asses out of here."

"They loved it," Tig made a somewhat limp wave toward the cell's other occupants.

"Yeah," she snorted. "You're a regular…"

"Bing Crosby?" he supplied.

"Yes. Bing sounded exactly like a strangled goose on meth."

Bobby laughed as he finally managed to reach a standing position. "Ooh, she's good, Tigger."

"Just take 'em already," Unser griped, sliding the door back. "I already got that damn song stuck in my head."

Gemma stepped back and rolled her eyes as the two heavily intoxicated bikers came stumbling out into the hall. "First one to puke in my car owes me a new set of tires."

**Present Day**

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Tig waved his hand through the air like he was dispelling the myth. "I NEVER sang. No way."

"That's not what Mom said," Jax said with a chuckle.

"Who cares?" Juice griped. "Does this story have a point?"

"I'm getting'g there," Jax assured.

**1994**

Dawson's was a shitty bar half-way between Charming and Pope. The beer was watered down, the waitresses were fugly, but the real attraction was the boxing ring set up in the warehouse out back. The place was jumping that night, packed to excess with every money-hungry gambler in a tri-county area.

Opie was a head taller than half the crowd and Jax let him lead the way as they shoved and wrestled their way up to the side of the ring. The din of cheering and screaming was overwhelming, and as they drew up to the ring, Jax realized why. The ring, in fact, was not a ring this evening. In its place, a fourteen by fourteen cage had been set up. This was a cage match. Typical rules did not apply, gloves weren't used, and someone stood a good chance of getting killed as opposed to just getting knocked out.

"I thought this was a boxing match?" Jax yelled above the noise. Opie shrugged.

"What the hell, McKeevy?" Clay asked from behind them. "I thought this was legit."

"Like you care," McKeevy scoffed. "Just watch, our guy's in right now."

Applause reached a crescendo and one fighter smashed face-first against the side of the cage in front of them. _"One…two…three…" _the announcer counted. _"That's a knock-out, folks. Boys, let's clean this shit up."_

Two burly guys in black t-shirts went in the cage and dragged out the defeated fighter; he had a river of blood coursing down his chin and dripping onto his chest. He wasn't conscious.

Jax flicked a glance to the winner who stood facing the opposite corner, fingers laced through the bars of the cage. "Is that him?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yeah," McKeevy hollered. "Filip Telford. Some of my guys started calling him 'Chibs' just to give him hell. It's Scots for 'blade'."

"Huh?" Jax wondered.

The Scottish fighter turned around and all question about the name vanished. He was just a hair over six feet, dark haired, laced with lean muscle, and spattered with other men's blood. Those features weren't distinctive though. It was impossible not to stare at the twin scars that ran from each corner of his mouth back to his ears. They were old, long healed over, but the poor lighting in the warehouse made them obvious shadows. They had this eerie, smile-like resemblance that made Jax instantly wonder what other atrocities this man had been victim to.

"Jesus Christ," Kyle said. "Are those real?"

"Aye," McKeevy said. "I was serious when I called him a slum dog, he's got the Glasgow Smile to prove it."

"_Alright, our next contestant is coming in, ladies and gents. Let's see if…Bill Watson, is that right?...can take on William Wallace in there," _the announcer said. _"Good luck, Billy. And hold on to you crown jewels. Mr. Bagpipes is a mean one."_

The new contestant outweighed the Scotsman by at least fifty pounds and was cracking beefy knuckles. He grinned as the door of the cage clanged shut and started pantomiming a slow, "put-up-your-dukes" kind of motion.

The Scotsman sized him up with a nod, flicked away his cigarette, and put his banged and bloodied hands up, still as a statue.

The big guy started forward, bouncing on the sides of his feet and the Scot moved away, drawing the brute in a slow spin, forcing the other man to keep moving, keep looking. Impatient, the brute lunged forward and the Scotsman sidestepped him, bringing his elbow down into the back of the guy's neck.

There was a collective "Ooooh," from the audience as the big man belly-flopped and scrambled back to his feet. When he turned back to the Scot, he was fuming, veins popping out along his neck and forehead, his cheeks blushing to a plum color. The Scot flipped his fingers in a "come on" gesture and once again outmaneuvered the lumbering ox.

The audience started chanting as the big guy became more and more frustrated and the Scotsman started taunting with his heavy accent. "Come on, ya muppet, is that all you got? Are you gonna cry? Come on, baby…"

"Chibs!" McKeevy yelled. "Finish it already."

The Scot nodded and ducked under the other man's clumsy punches. He took three quick, left-handed jabs, broke the man's nose with an audible _crunch_, and then took him out with a right hook that sent him crumbling lifeless to the mat.

McKeevy screamed his approval and the Scot danced away, both arms raised in victory.

"_That'll give us a new champ, folks. King of the Cage,Chibs Telford."_

Jax shared an awed glance with Opie. "Holy shit," Opie muttered.

Jax turned around and saw that Kyle and Otto were similarly impressed. Clay shrugged and raised his eyebrows. "Okay," he said. "So maybe I'm alright with the blue and white."

**TBC**

**Slow start, I know, but the action will pick up next chapter.**


	2. Paging Doctor Telford

**AN: Okay, I'm an idiot. Last chapter,I labeled the present day scene as set during "the Pull" when it actually happened during "Old Bones". Sorry. Also, as will make sense later, I have a Doberman, named Riddick of all things, so I loved that scene in "Patch Over". I just **_**had **_**to throw a Doby in this chapter when I saw the chance.**

**_______________________________________________________________________**

**Chapter 2: Paging Doctor Telford**

**1994**

December didn't exactly mean snow in Northern Cali, but it was cold at eight in the morning. Jax shrugged further into the recesses of his hooded sweatshirt as he stepped into the garage bay where his mother's black Firebird was up on the rack. Bobby had an air wrench to the lug nuts and Piney was leaned up against the front fender.

"I take it you were the first to hurl?" Jax asked around a laugh. Gemma's no puking rule had been a standing order for years.

"No," Bobby sighed. "It was Tig, but he's still too toasted to do anything about it and I don't wanna listen to your mama fuss any more."

"Smart," Jax said, taking a seat on a tool chest and digging a cigarette from the depths of his pocket.

"How'd it go last night?" Piney asked.

Jax shrugged. "McKeevy's gonna be another few days gettin' the guns off the boat, but otherwise it was all good."

"I hear you guys went over to the fights last night. Something about one of Michael's guys?"

Jax smiled at the memory. "Yeah. McKeevy's got this Scottish dude on his payroll who's showed some interest in SAMCRO. He _killed_ last night at the cage match; I think Clay and the others were impressed."

"Cage match at Dawson's?" Bobby turned around. "See what I miss when I let that big asshole do the thinking? Jeez."

Piney checked his watch. "Don't you have school, kid?"

"Yeah," Jax grumbled. He stood reluctantly. "Not like I'll learn anything."

"Who knows," Bobby said. "Maybe one of your teachers knows how to keep a thirty-six-year-old man from puking in the back of a Pontiac."

***

In third period History, Jax perked up when he thought his teacher said "Pontiac", only to realize that she'd in fact said "Potomac", as in the river. He sighed and rested his forehead on his folded arms. Something bumped into his elbow and he looked up to find a folded piece of paper.

He opened it and recognized Opie's handwriting. _When is Clay going to get the guns?_

_McKeevy called this A.M. Should be Friday. You coming? _Jax wrote and passed the note back across the aisle.

Opie read it, shook his head, and jotted something else.

_Can't. Donna wants me to go to this family Christmas thing with her. Not like we'll get to go down to the ports anyway._

Jax frowned. He was sure Tara wanted him to do something with her too, but this was big; their first gun deal since becoming full patch holders. He damn sure didn't want to miss it. Clay would most likely send Tig or Kyle, but he wanted to be there just in case. If nothing else, it showed loyalty to the club.

_The club IS family _he wrote back.

Opie shrugged. "What can I say?" he whispered. "I like gettin' laid."

Jax grinned.

***

"Where's Ope?" Clay asked from the head of the table. It was Friday night and everyone was at church except Opie.

"Plans with his girlfriend," Piney said.

Clay made a 'what the hell' face and snickered laughter ran around the table.

"It's Christmas time," Piney protested. "Let the kid have some fun."

"Yeah, I bet she's fun alright," Tig said.

Jax felt heat flare in his cheeks. Donna was Opie's girlfriend, not some hang-around slut. And she was his friend; he didn't like anyone talking about her or Tara. It wasn't right.

"Alright, whatever," Clay sighed. "I got four buyers fighting over this shipment of AKs, and I'm gonna sell to the highest bidder. That said, it's time to go get the guns, whether or not McKeevy's ready."

"I talked to him a few hours ago," Otto spoke up from the Vice President chair. "He said he couldn't grease the wheels and the port authority doesn't wanna release the shipment til Monday."

"That's bullshit," Kyle wagged his head. "They're just stonewalling him."

"I know," Clay sighed. "So we're going in tonight under the radar, no cuts no bikes. The Scotty dog's gonna meet you guys down at the docks around eleven."

"We sneakin' 'em out?" Tig leaned forward eagerly.

"That's dangerous shit," Bobby said. "We get caught…"

"So don't get caught," Clay said, aiming a warning finger at all of them simultaneously. "Tig, Kyle, no mistakes."

"Okay."

Chairs scraped backward across the wooden floor as the meeting was adjourned and Jax felt himself sigh. He still had a long way to go before he was trusted on a run like this.

"Oh," Clay added. "Take Jax with you." He shot his step-son a wink. "Gotta learn sometime, huh kid?"

Tig rolled his eyes but Jax didn't care. Finally. He was going on a real run.

***

Jax put his fingers through the chain-link fence and hefted himself up, scrambling for a toehold. Something latched onto the back of his sweatshirt and yanked him, sending him crashing back down to the pavement.

"Dumbass," Tig muttered, toeing him in the ribs. The Sgt at Arms looked like something out of a Tolkein novel shrouded in his black hood. His eyes shone like blue headlamps in the dark and for a second, Jax thought he was looking up into the face of the real life reaper that graced their cuts.

He scrambled back to his feet and straightened out his stocking cap, his panted breath pluming in front of him like dragon's breath. "What?"

"There's barb wire up there, genius," Tig hissed. He passed the beam of his flashlight over the top of the seven foot fence and revealed three rows of the pronged wire.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Tig pulled off his jacket and tossed it up on the fence, covering the barbs. He flung his empty duffel bag over, then took a running start, climbed up, rolled over the covered section of wire, and dropped down to the other side. "Can you manage that?" he asked Jax through the fence.

The younger man frowned, not wanting to be outdone. He took a similar leap, struggled for purchase at the top, twisted in the air, and barely missed slicing open his hand before he thudded down to the other side. "Yeah," he said, trying not to sound breathless. "I can manage."

Tig nodded, his only acknowledgement of success. Kyle scrambled over and pulled the jacket down with him, handing it back to Tig. "Cold as shit out here," he grumbled. He pushed between them and set out through the towering walls of shipping containers, clicking his flashlight on. "Let's get this over with," he called over his shoulder.

Jax started forward and felt Tig's hand on his arm. He glanced up and saw the older man watching Kyle and frowning to himself. "Keep your eyes open, kid," Tig said quietly. "If the shit hits the fan, Kyle's gonna freak."

Jax's eyes widened, not sure he'd heard correctly. "Say what?"

"You heard me," Tig said, releasing him and stepping away.

Jax followed, a little confused, as they picked their way carefully through the port acreage. It was silent and dark; the only sound came from the occasional _plunk _of moisture and the sounds of their breathing. There was a thick fog rolling in off the Pacific and it ghosted around their ankles like the dry ice generated stuff of horror movies. If it weren't for the threat of capture, Jax would have hummed to ease the strain of the quiet.

A sharp whistled broke the stillness of the shipping yard somewhere off to the right. Jax and Kyle jumped, Tig turned, and a dark, hooded figure stepped into the puddle of light cast by a security lamp. Forget Tig, _this _was the Grim Reaper.

"You McKeevy's guy?" Tig finally asked.

"Aye." A deep voice heavy with accent affirmed. The stranger pushed back his hood with gloved hands and revealed the scarred face of the Scottish cage fighter. His dark hair was a little on the shaggy side and shaded his eyes, but that Glasgow Smile was unmistakable.

Jax was at once relieved and a little wary. He'd seen this guy tear a part a man twice as big as all of them a few nights before. He prayed Tig would keep his tongue in check or they might all end up with busted noses.

"Filip, right?" Jax asked.

The Scotsman shook his head. "Chibs. Filip's been gone a long time, kid."

"Where are the guns?" Tig asked.

Chibs waved for them to follow and slid between two containers, leading them down a much narrower alley. The containers were stacked three tall here, flanking them like skyscrapers, fencing them in and blocking any chance of escape.

"Where the hell's he taking us?" Kyle hissed over his shoulder.

Jax shrugged.

They eventually reached an intersection of sorts; an open space circled by the mouths of six shipping containers. "This is it," Chibs pointed to one. "They're disassembled in bags, so I hope you lads can carry your share."

"We'll worry about that, just open the shit up," Tig grumbled, shining his flashlight on the latch.

"Hold it!" a voice shouted behind them and a half a dozen flashlight beams joined Tig's. Jax heard the distinct _click _of a slide being pulled back on a nine millimeter. Port authority.

"Let's see some hands!" the voice repeated.

Jax lifted his arms over his head, pulse leaping up into his ears. He could hear Tig swearing under his breath. The Scotsman was still, assuming the position too. But Kyle started panting heavily, breath coming in ragged gasps. _He's gonna freak_ Jax remembered Tig's earlier warning.

"Kyle," Jax said. "You okay?"

"This is bullshit!" Kyle hissed. "Bullshit, man!"

"Shut up, Kyle!" Tig turned around and one of the port goons stepped forward, jamming his gun into the Sgt at Arm's back.

"I said to put your goddamn hands up!"

"We weren't doing anything," Kyle said, voice wavering. "Come on, guys, we're just passing through," he almost whined.

"What the fuck's wrong with your guy?" Chibs asked with a growl.

"I dunno," Jax started to feel desperate. The dumbass was going to get them all shot. "Kyle, cool it, man."

And then the shit did indeed hit the fan.

Kyle spun and took off, knocking aside the two port guards directly behind him. "Aww fuck," Tig muttered, elbowing the gun away from his back and taking the guy out with an upward blow to the nose. "Go!" he yelled and Jax took off.

The seventeen-year-old biker sprinted down between the rows of containers, the cold air burning his lungs. He tossed a quick look over his shoulder and saw a flashlight beam dancing along behind him. "Shit!" he forced the speed another notch, willing his legs to pump faster. The pavement was slick with fog and condensation and he slipped once, skidded and nearly went down, pushing himself off the side of a container and lurching back to his feet.

The slap of shoes continued behind him as he reached another intersection and he started to turn left. Someone grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and yanked him hard right, pulling him down another alley and slamming him to the ground. A hand closed over his mouth as the guard hustled through the intersection and then disappeared.

Jax craned his head around and struggled to sit up, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever had him.

"Shhh," someone said and the hand fell away.

Jax scrambled back to his feet and realized that it was the Scotsman who'd saved him. "You okay, kid?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jax sighed with relief and straightened his stocking cap for the tenth time that evening.

"Where are your friends?"

He winced. "I dunno. You didn't see them?"

"No."

Jax fell forward with his hands on his knees, taking some of the weight off his diaphragm. Adrenaline had pushed him harder than he was actually capable and he was winded, sucking the cold air down in painful gulps.

"Come on," Chibs said, heading deeper into their alley. "We gotta keep moving."

Jax followed, taking one last deep breath. His legs felt like lead as they padded silently between the containers.

A male scream broke the night and Chibs broke into an easy jog ahead of him. Jax followed, suddenly wishing that he'd actually participated in gym class. It was impossible to tell where the sound had come from, but the Scotsman weaved through the labyrinth of containers and drew up suddenly, flinging an arm out to catch Jax.

The younger man stumbled and then gasped when he realized that he'd just been saved from going over a five foot sheer concrete drop down to a bayside loading area. There was a long, vehicle accessible ramp that stretched along twenty or so feet of ocean front, the drop-off becoming steeper the further east you went.

"Gimme your torch."

"My what?" Jax asked.

"What do you Yanks call it? The…flashlight. Gimme the damn flashlight," Chibs snatched the Maglite out of his hands and clicked it on, sweeping the beam down the ramp below them. At the far end of the ramp and to their right, Kyle lay writhing on the wet pavement.

"Shit," Chibs muttered. He passed the light back to Jax and carefully hopped down to the lower level. "Come on, kid, I'll need you to hold the light."

Jax followed and as they drew up to Kyle, his whimpers became audible. "Kyle, what the hell, man?"

"I fucked up my leg," the older man answered.

"Let me see," Chibs knelt beside him and waved Jax over. "Put the light on his leg, right here."

Jax thumbed the switch and passed the beam over his "brother's" leg, not at all prepared for what he saw. There was a big tear in Kyle's jeans a few inches below the knee and the fabric was stained crimson with blood. Something white was stuck to the front of his shin, and in one, horrifying instant, Jax realized that it was Kyle's broken bone protruding through the skin.

"Holy shit!" he turned the light off and pressed a fist over his mouth. He pressed his eyes shut and fought the urge to gag. He'd seen some blood on the other guys after shoot-outs or knife fights, but he'd never seen anything like this.

"Mother of Christ," Chibs muttered. "Alright, I can work with this."

"What?" Jax was appalled.

"Get your shit together, kid," he said. "This looks worse than it is and I'm gonna need your help."

"Help with what?!"

The Scotsman sighed. "I was a medic in the British Army. I'm gonna try and splint his leg so we can move him. That alright with you?"

Jax nodded slowly. "Medic?"

"Aye. Now, put the light back on his leg so I can see."

Jax complied, but he looked away, not trusting his stomach.

"How bad is it?" Kyle asked.

"You've got a compound fracture, you idiot," Chibs said. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to go leaping over concrete ditches?"

Kyle groaned. "Compound…is that bad?"

The Scotsman hissed something garbled and unintelligible under his breath.

A light blossomed above them. "Holy fucking shit!" Tig's tell-tale voice eased Jax's momentary panic. "What'd that stupid shit do?"

"Broke his leg," Chibs called. "Where are the port goons?"

"Behind me I think."

"I need a sec to fix him up, can you hold them off?"

Jax could imagine the other man's frown. "Yeah." Distant shouts and more than one dog bark sounded somewhere within the shipping yard. "Shit!" Tig hissed and the rap of his boots faded away overhead.

"Okay, kid," Chibs prodded him back to the task at hand. "What've you got under your sweatshirt?"

Jax frowned. "Dude -,"

"I need a tourniquet."

"Oh." Jax lifted the hem of his sweatshirt and pulled out the bottom of his cotton t-shirt. "Will this work?"

"Aye."

He stripped and handed over his undershirt, the cold night air sending goose flesh up his arms. He slipped the hoodie back on and resumed flashlight duty.

The Scotsman pulled out a switchblade and cut the shirt into three strips. One he tied right above the break to slacken blood flow, and, consequently, blood loss. He waved toward a stack of wooden crates over at the edge of the deck. "Break me off two pieces of those and bring 'em back," he instructed.

Jax quickly realized that wooden crates didn't come apart like they did in movies, and he hurled the damn thing against the concrete wall seven or eight times before he was able to wrench two boards loose. He used his bowie knife to pry the nails out of the ends and returned.

"Okay, hold this one here," Chibs set one board against the inside of Kyle's ruined leg and motioned for Jax to take hold of it. He did, even if he had to swallow his stomach back down.

"How does this not make you sick?" Jax asked.

Chibs shrugged as he laced a strip of t-shirt around leg and both boards. "You get used to it, no worse than any other job." He tied it off and started the next. "What's your name, kid?"

"Jax."

"Short for…?"

"Jackson. Jackson Teller."

"Ah," the Scotsman said with recognition. "McKeevy talked about a John Teller. You must be his boy."

"Yeah."

"Sorry about your father, kid. I heard you lost him a couple of years ago."

Jax gave a tight-lipped non smile.

"You like being a Son of Anarchy?"

Jax shrugged. "What else is there? My old man was the founder, Clay's president now, my best friend just got patched in with me…it's the only life I've known. It's a real brotherhood you know?"

Chibs finished the splint and frowned at his work. "That's a right shitty job, but it'll hold til we get him outta here."

"McKeevy said you might be interested in prospecting with us," Jax said.

The Scotsman's small, but quick brown eyes caught the Maglite's beam and he tried to play it off as only a passing interest. "Dunno. I thought it sounded interesting."

"I can put a good word in with Clay," Jax encouraged. "After tonight…no way he'll turn you away."

He smiled grimly, highlighting the scars on his face. "The night ain't over yet, Jackie-boy. We still gotta find that angry fella of yours and get this retard outta here in one piece."

"Holy shit!" Jax heard Tig above them on the edge of the ramp followed by canine snarls. "You mother fuckers better hurry up!" he shouted. "Fucking dogs! I fucking _hate _Dobermans!"

Jax tried to suppress a chuckle as he took up position to help Kyle to his feet.

"If we don't get going I'm gonna have to stitch his ass back on," Chibs muttered. "Alright, one…two…three…"

**TBC**


	3. Mags

**AN: Thanks for the lovely reviews! Glad you like. I must say that as I go back and reread this chapter, it doesn't make a lot of sense. But I promise it all ties into the overall arc of the story. Long way to go from here…**

**Apologies for any typos, I'm too tired to catch everything.**

**Chapter 3: Mags**

**Present Day**

"I forgot that part," Clay muttered. "Damn, Kyle always was a royal fuck-up."

"Shoulda stripped his patch right there on the goddamned concrete, busted leg and all," Tig agreed sourly. He held up thumb and forefinger a scant inch apart. "I came _that_ close to having my ass torn off by those stupid dogs."

Juice chuckled and earned a swift punch to the arm. He frowned and rubbed it. "So, is that it?" he asked after the obvious stinging had subsided. "They just patched you in that night?" he asked Chibs.

The Scotsman shook his head. "Nothing's ever that easy, kid. I was a prospect just like everyone else."

Juice frowned. "I just can't see that."

"Scariest damn prospect we ever had," Jax said. He stubbed out the last of his cigarette and tried to scrutinize Chibs' mood through the dark lenses of his shades. There were parts of the tale he would tell – the impromptu match between he and Tig, the stunt that could have very well landed half the club behind bars – but there were some things that would stay just between the two of them, things each man would take to his grave. The reasons Chibs would someday become his VP when Clay left the throne, the reason Gemma's cousin lived in Seattle never to return…those things had been hidden from the others and would remain so.

**1994**

Jax rolled an unlit cigarette between nervous fingers and snuck a look at the Scotsman from the corner of his eye. They sat, silent, on the battered sofa in the clubhouse, straining to hear the gentle rumble of voices that crept between the cracks of the chapel doors. Clay, Otto, and Tig had been locked away for the past hour and Jax was starting to think that maybe their visitor's sentence would be an unfavorable one.

"You know, I'm startin' to think you're more nervous than me," Chibs said and Jax sighed loudly.

"This was my first time out at night, on a run," he admitted. "And one of the guys got all fucked up…this doesn't look good for me, man."

"Oh, don't get your panties in a wad," Bobby called from his perch at the bar. The zipper on his best, white Elvis jumpsuit was slowly being eased down by the unrelenting pressure of his round belly and his wig was looking less than coiffed. "Kyle is stupid as shit. Unless you shoved him over that wall, Clay won't care."

"Besides, aren't you the prince or something? What with your father and all?" Chibs asked.

Bobby chuckled. "Born on the back of a Knucklehead. Prince indeed."

The chapel doors opened with a soft _click _and Tig poked his curly head through. "Jax, get in here."

Jax took a deep breath, scrubbed a hand down his bristled chin to hide the fact, and joined the so-called adults. He walked all the way round the table to sit beside Otto in Bobby's usual chair, not really wanting to be anywhere near Tig's fists if the verdict was bad. Clay and the VP had their hands folded casually over the table, as non-threatening as any outlaw bikers could hope to look.

"So," Clay's voice had a humored edge to it. "I hear you had an…_exciting_…evening."

"Yeah," he said lamely, not really sure what he was supposed to do here.

"Relax," Otto said. "Kyle's a nimrod; nobody blames you for that shit."

"No?" he glanced at their faces.

Tig shrugged. "I was the one who warned you, remember? That guy's a dipshit and a half."

Clay nodded. "We've been talking about our other issue. Scotty."

Relief flooded through Jax in a tidal wave and he struggled not to smile like an idiot kid. "I know you guys weren't sure about bringing him on board, but he saved all our asses tonight."

"We know," Clay said. "Which is why we're gonna let him hang around for a while. If it's a good fit, we'll let him prospect."

"We need to be careful though," Otto added. "We don't know how deep he is with McKeevy and his crew. We don't need anyone trying to turn SAMCRO into the IRA's bitch."

Jax nodded. "I get it."

"And then there's the guns," Clay said. "Tonight's little fubar prevented us from getting the goods, so we might need him there."

"If he prospects, who'll sponsor him?" Jax asked. He had this somewhat ridiculous hope that he might earn the title since he'd been involved in the night's escapades. Sponsorship would be one step up the ladder in SOA politics.

"I will," Tig said. The Sgt at Arms got this familiar, malicious look in his eyes that spoke volumes of hazing and torture.

Jax figured that whatever he'd planned, it would be nothing compared to the violence the Scotsman had already endured.

***

"What's up, Apple Jacks?"

Jax cringed outwardly at the nickname, but secretly loved that his cousin was able to come up with a new pet name every week. It showed she cared.

Maggie was, in truth, Gemma's cousin, making her Jax's second cousin once removed or some bullshit. At twenty-two, she was far closer to him in the cultural, spiritual side of life than she was to her actual relative. Her family was from Flagstaff, a bunch of prim and proper candy-asses, and Maggie had taken off the moment her father had let his gaze slip, ending up jobless and homeless on her cousin Gemma's doorstep. In the four years since, she'd leased her own apartment in a nicer section of downtown and brought in a decent salary as T-M's manager.

Maggie sat behind the desk with her feet propped up on the oversized ledger that she was supposed to be filling in with the day's work orders. She was twirling a lock of her darker than dirty blond hair, she liked to call it "filthy" blond and get a smirk out of Tig, and reading a Stephen King novel.

"That shit's sick," Jax tapped the cover of the book as he took the chair across from her.

She lowered the book far enough to arch her brows. "Sicker than Kyle's bone coming through his leg?"

He shuddered at the thought. "Dude, don't remind me."

She closed the book and leaned forward eagerly. "So, according to Attila the Gem, I'm not supposed to know all the ins and outs of your little leather-dude-from-the-Villiage-People-clan…"

He gave her a mock scowl and she grinned devilishly.

"…But what the hell went on last night? Hobart may be an idiot, but he's hot and I wouldn't want him to mess up any part of that body of his. Messes up my fantasies."

"You're a pervert, Mags."

"I know, but I thought you biker boys liked that."

He put his hands over his face as she dissolved into laughter. "You're my _cousin_, so none of them are allowed within five feet of you, genius."

She shrugged. "Bobby'll be disappointed to learn that."

"Shut up," he bit back a laugh as he stood. He paused in the doorway, hands on the frame, when he spotted Chibs and Piney walking along the row of Harleys backed in along the pipe and concrete guard rail. Piney paused here and there, pointing out particulars of one bike or another, no doubt talking about the differences between regular and forward facing air intakes, headers and cams. The Scotsman didn't have a T-M work shirt on yet, still in this wifebeater and jeans from the night before.

"Who the hell is that?" Maggie asked over his shoulder. She shoved his arm aside roughly before he could answer.

"Dude -,"

"I asked a question, Jax, now I need an answer. Who's that delicious piece of man meat out there with Piney?"

Jax looked at her, unnecessarily surprised by her reaction. "Would you chill? The guy's only been here one night and you're already drooling over him?"

"Can you blame me? Damn. He's just yummy."

He rolled his eyes. "That's the…business associate…we went to meet last night. He's thinking about prospecting."

A pleased smile stretched across her face that was, every so often, similar to Gemma's. "What's his name?"

"Chibs."

She frowned. "You guys and your names."

"It's supposed to mean knife or something in Scotland."

Her hazel eyes expanded beyond belief. "He's Scottish?! Are you kidding me?!"

"No."

"Talk about hot," she fanned herself with her hand. "You _so _have to introduce me to him."

A green Taurus pulled into the lot, sparing him from any more of her out spoken wet dreams. "You need to get a boyfriend," he said as he stepped down out of the office. He turned and walked backwards once he was out of reach of her right hook. "Then maybe you'd quit talking about what you wanna do to my brothers."

***

Tara stepped out of the passenger seat of Donna's mother's car, and Jax had his lips on hers before she cleared the door.

"Hey, baby," she pulled back, pleased but surprised. "How'd you know I was here?"

"I'm psychic," he teased.

She laughed. She always did, always scrunched up her nose and crinkled her eyes and looked absolutely gorgeous.

"Hey, princess," Piney greeted Donna.

She smiled a bit uncomfortably. Jax had it on good authority that she hated anything to do with names like "princess" "angel" or "cutie-pie". "Hi, Mr. Winston," she said.

Piney frowned. "Mr. Winston? Damn I feel old."

"You _are _old," Jax affirmed, earning a scowl.

"Aww, damn kids. Go on with you."

Jax draped an arm over his girlfriend's shoulder and nodded to Donna. "C'mon. Ope's inside."

"Hey," Piney called him back. "Clay wants him to take a crack at the Buick that came in yesterday," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Chibs. The Scotsman was crouched in front of Tig's bike, examining the front fender support.

Jax debated things in his head, wondered if maybe he shouldn't take Chibs in and find him a shirt, get him situated himself. But if he had any hope of being SAMCRO, he'd have to learn how things worked around here sooner or later.

He sighed. "Send him in to Mags."

**1983**

**Belfast, Ireland**

The rain fell everywhere but the narrow patch of dirt that was covered by a green and white striped awning. It was tucked away between two semi trailers at the back of the carnival, under a tent with seven or eight patched holes, water dripping down through the cracks onto the mat, the ring itself perched up on straw that reeked of livestock manure. The tent was too small for all the spectators to fit under, so the extras stood in the downpour, scraps of newspapers over their heads.

They had come from the four corners of the city to watch the kid with the lightening fists turn the Irish boys to porridge.

Filip danced away from the other, older man's punch as if the blow had been cast in slow motion. He had time to register the plethora of freckles across his nose, his shock of red hair, the way his mouth guard puffed out his lips like a trout, before he slugged him across the jaw and sent him down like a bag of hammers.

They didn't care that he was Scottish, that he wasn't truly one of them; the crowd went wild at his fifth KO of the afternoon.

He lifted his fists over his head and strutted around the edge of the ring, daring them to throw another victim in with him. And then he spotted her, at the very edge of the ropes, sopping wet and holding her caramel hair out of her green eyes. She was an oddity amongst the men and haggard housewives of the audience, but no one would touch her, no one would mess with _his _girl. The only thing in all of Ireland worth living for. His Maggie.

She winked at him and the expression promised of things to come. Things she'd do once they were alone and he'd taken off his gloves and unwrapped the tape from his purple knuckles. Sometimes he wondered if it was enough to be an amateur boxer in the most dangerous city in all of the UK. But when she smiled at him like that, he wouldn't dream of being anywhere else.

**1994**

**Charming, California**

Chibs had adopted a religious attachment to sunglasses years ago under the personal mantra that things worked in your favor if others didn't know what you were thinking. He pushed his blue-tinted, wire-rimmed shades further up his nose with a bruised knuckle as he approached the office of the garage. The kid, Jackie-boy, had told him to "go get a shirt and let Tig show him the ropes". Yeah, that was a fella he wanted to spend all his time with; Captain Dickhead.

Teller-Morrow was, as he'd seen on his previous visits to the States, a pretty standard American auto shop; three lift bays, warehouse space, too-small parking lot filled with everything from Hondas to Cadillacs. He was okay under the hood, he at least wasn't a total moron, but he needed a refresher course, and he didn't have any desire to fuck things up if he was going to prospect. Sons were mechanics by day trade. And even if he wouldn't admit it, he wanted desperately to be a part of this club.

He stepped into the office, knocked once on the open door, and watched curiously as the young woman with her boots on the desk jumped and dropped the book she was reading. _Pet Semetary_. Okay…

"Holy shit," she muttered, scrambling back up from the floor, novel clutched to her chest. "You scared the sh…" she paused, face shifting from alarmed to something just shy of smug when she saw him. She set the book down, stood, and smoothed her hands down the front of the tight, silky black shirt thing she was wearing. It had laces from the top of the neckline down below her breasts and it did nice things for her cleavage.

"Hey there," she said, voice completely different. She strolled around the side of the desk, simultaneously tidying her almost dark hair. "I hear you're the Scotsman."

He was a bit taken aback by her, but then again, he'd heard McKeevy's stories about American women.

"Jackie-boy sent me in here to get put in the books," he said, making a conscious effort to tweak his accent. He got tired of repeating himself.

"Jackie-boy, ooh, that's a good one. I'll have to remember it."

Against his better judgment, he pushed his shades up into his hair to study her better. She'd gone back to the desk and was scribbling something down on a note card. "I've got a list going," she said. "Nicknames to torture my cousin with."

"You're his cousin?"

She rolled her eyes and he realized they were hazel. Pretty. "Well, actually, I'm _Gemma's _cousin, but, yawn, so…I pretend I'm Jax's." She extended a hand over the desk. "I'm Maggie by the way."

Maggie. His felt his stomach roll over and he thought, for a moment, that he might not be breathing. Maggie? He'd heard her wrong, of course. Because certainly her name wasn't…

"Let's try this again, stud muffin. I'm Maggie. You are…?"

"Oh." He leaned forward to shake her hand, stepping into the shaft of light that was coming in through the horizontal blinds. "Chibs."

She clasped his hand, and then her smile slipped.

He realized, too late, that she'd just caught sight of his "Smile". This was the awkward part; the part where women made up some bullshit excuse about having to go, left the stove on or some shit. They would gasp, cover their mouths, try to play it off as a cough, but it was always the same. His scars scared the living daylights out of women. Always had, always would. The only woman who could have ever understood was eleven years in the ground and counting. The _real _Maggie.

She gave a low whistle, squeezed his hand, and smiled with a fresh…appreciation? "Damn, those must've hurt like a bitch. Kinda hot though," she said, turning back to the massive ledger on the desk. She flipped several pages and he stood, stunned, at her lack of a reaction.

"Okay," she said. "You can have locker number twelve…should be a clean shirt in there. We'll get your name stitched on in the next few days. Once Clay decides he can stand you."

She looked up and winked at him. "Welcome to Teller- Morrow, Scotty. I sure as hell hope you're in for the ride."


	4. Prospect

**AN: Reviews are wonderful – they really do just make my day! I'm thinking that due to the content of future chapters, I may have to change the rating to "M". So if you don't see it, check the mature page next time. **

**Still some mystery here. Sorry, but I'm having so much fun dragging things out. I'm evil like that.**

**Chapter 4: Prospect**

**1994**

"Did you find it yet?"

Chibs rapped his knuckles against the Chevy's oil pan to prove that he was, in fact, not an imbecile. Mr. Hot Shit Blue Eyes had taken an unnecessary amount of pleasure over the past week walking him through each and every oil change, tire rotation and what not. Tuesday, he'd taken a power drill to someone's muffler and told him to "figure it out" in the thirty minutes before the owner got back. The car had come in for a routine tune-up and left with a poorly patched muffler that was bound to come back and bite them in the ass.

"Now, what's wrong with the oil pan?" Tig pressed in this fake, sing-song voice.

He clicked on his torch and ran the beam over and around the part, taking inventory. "Nothing's wrong with it," he said at last, rolling back out from under the car.

His sponsor stood with one boot propped on the bumper of the Impala, eating a sandwich off bread that was raining sesame seeds down onto the garage floor. He wiped a large glob of mayo off on the tail of his T-M shirt and mumbled something around a mouthful of roast beef that sounded like "Check it again."

"I checked it five fuckin' times," Chibs was on his feet in half a breath, fists curling and cracking at the sudden rush of frustration. "There's nothing wrong with it, just like there was nothing wrong with the fuckin' muffler or the fuckin' radiator-,"

"Chill," Tig said with a shrug. "You know how this goes." He grinned that smile of his that reminded Chibs of some fallen angel, Lucifer himself perhaps. "You're my bitch for the next year, that is, _if _Clay lets you prospect. So you might as well get used to it. Now, I need some coffee. Fetch."

The Scotsman made a noise like a growl in the back of his throat, simultaneously realizing that it wouldn't serve him too well to pick a fight with the President's preferred member. Clay was a difficult man to read, but his favoritism for Tig was something palpable.

"Cream?" he asked rather than plant his fist in the other man's smug face.

"And two sugars."

Jax and the tall sulky friend of his, Opie, were braced on either side of the lifted hood of a Mustang, waving fingers at the guts of the machine and shaking their heads. "Hey," Jax called as he walked past. "Everything a'ight?"

"Apparently," Chibs sighed, drawing up to the front of the car. "I'm his bitch."

Jax grinned and thumped him amiably on the arm. "Naw, that's just how it goes at first."

"Whose bitch were you, then?"

The young biker grinned a little sheepishly. "Must be that whole prince thing."

Logically, Jax should have been the spoiled rotten of envy of everyone, an insipid little rat to get under the skin of older, harder working men. But Chibs had to admit that he'd taken a liking to the kid. He was very independent, very much a free spirit who was anything but pretentious.

"Where's my coffee, Highlander?!" Tig yelled from the Impala and Chibs sighed.

"Guess I'm getting coffee then," he muttered.

Jax muttered an apology as he headed for the office. The door was open, as always, and he recognized the less than soothing, but oh so lovely sounds of "Up to my Neck in You" by AC/DC throbbing out of crackled speakers. The manager, his manager he guessed, was standing in front of a file cabinet, flipping through folders and managing to shake her ass to the beat. She wore a ratty 7up t-shirt and jeans, messy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and was singing along at the top of her lungs.

"_Well I been up to my neck in sorrow…up to my neck in strife. Up to my neck in misery…for most of my life. I been a fool…"_

He watched her for a moment, enjoying the show, and his mind went blank the instant he thought her name…Maggie. It had been nearly a week and he couldn't wrap his brain around it. Just thinking those six letters in that particular order nearly gave him a heart attack.

**1983**

**Belfast, Ireland**

In the moonlight, her skin was the color of sweet cream, just as soft to look at as it was to touch. His bruised and split knuckles looked dark in contrast as he glided his fingers down her body. She giggled when his thumb skimmed around her nipple, when he squeezed her breast just the lightest amount and its fullness yielded in a way that nearly stirred him to action again. But he kept going, kept moving until his hand was pressed flat against her belly. It was taut and toned now, but soon…

"Can you feel it?" she asked, her voice soft and rolling, so much lighter and more elegant than his own. An outsider would have never known that they'd both grown up in one of Glasgow's filthier housing developments.

"No," he admitted, wishing that he could. "Not yet anyway. But soon, right?"

She sighed, laced her fingers through his and drew his eyes with that magical pull of hers. "I don't really know," her brow crinkled. "I haven't talked to a doctor."

"We'll go to London," he said. "We'll get a real doctor."

She sighed and touched his cheek, eyes going soft. "You don't have to make promises you can't keep, luv. I won't love you any less."

He wanted to frown but couldn't when she was looking at him that way. "I want you to be well taken care of. Both of you."

She kissed him, letting her lips linger over his, setting his blood afire. "I love you so much, Filly," she breathed. "We'll make this work, no families, no obligations…we'll make it."

God, he wanted her to be right.

"I think it's going to be a girl," she said, very matter of fact.

"Really?" he grinned at that. "You're so sure?"

She scowled fiercely. "Don't you dare mock me, Filip Telford." She rolled onto her side. "I'm going to sleep now, just for that."

He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her into his chest, until there wasn't so much as an inch between them. He closed his eyes, breathing in the heady scent of her hair, her perfume. His Maggie. "I love you, sweetheart."

"Always?"

"Always."

**1994**

**Charming, California**

"Yoo-hoo, earth to beefcake."

Chibs started at the hand that whizzed past his face. The new Maggie, the one that wasn't his, stood in front of him, hands on her hips, one brow arched questioningly.

"Did you need something? Or do you just want me to keep shaking my ass for you?"

"Sorry, luv," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to stare."

She grinned. "Luv? Shouldn't you at least buy me dinner first?" she laughed as she went back around the desk. She thumbed down the volume knob on the radio as she sat.

"You don't have to turn that off on my account," he said as he pulled a Styrofoam cup out of the stack.

"You like AC/DC?"

"Doesn't everybody?"

She shrugged. "With this crowd, most definitely. Didn't go over so well back home though."

He poured the semi-warm coffee and wracked his brain for the release date. The song was off the _Powerage _album…"Seventy-eight? Right?"

She smiled, a true expression that wasn't full of all that sexually charged charm she usually liked to flaunt. "Yeah. Right before _Highway to Hell_. You a Bon Scott fan or Brian Johnson guy?"

"Oh, definitely Bon. He's the Scotsman."

She chuckled. "Figures."

He pulled two sugar cubes out of the box on the cabinet and plunked them in, adding a plastic container of cream.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" she asked.

He turned, not sure how worried he should be.

Her brow was crinkled up in a way that reminded him remotely of…No. He wouldn't think that.

"Sure…"

"Why," she sighed and brushed the loose strands of her ponytail out of her eyes. "Why do you wanna be in SAMCRO?"

"I dunno."

"Bullshit."

"Yeah, it is. But I'm not opening that can with a girl I don't even know."

She frowned. "I just thought…I don't wanna see a nice guy turn out like Tig, you know?"

He frowned. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Do."

He stared at her a moment, wondering what she was getting at.

"Coffee's getting colder," she said and turned back to the ledger, dismissing him.

"Yeah."

***

"Jax," the little brunette sighed and rubbed a spot between her eyebrows. "You _promised _we'd get to spend some time together this weekend."

Chibs tried to hide his grin as Jax scraped his hands back through his longish blond hair and sighed. He'd seen that look before, the defeated stance of a man who was afraid that refusal would keep him from getting laid later on in the evening. He hadn't been formally introduced to Jax's girl, but he could tell that she was a pistol.

"Tara, you've gotta understand-,"

"Understand what? That you can't keep a promise? I get that already," she huffed, turning to leave.

"C'mon, Tara, baby."

Chibs stepped up and thumped the kid on the shoulder. "Go have some fun, Jackie-boy. You don't need to be cooped up with us old bachelors all night."

The kid turned halfway around and gave him a disturbed look. "We have to pick up the guns tonight; Clay'll skin my ass alive if I duck out on this."

He sighed, maybe a little wistfully. "You're only young once, kid."

"Alright, listen up!" Clay boomed behind them. The shuffle of half a dozen pairs of boots on hardwood filled the clubhouse and Jax turned away from the door and his retreating girlfriend. "She'll get over it," he said to Chibs with a shrug.

Chibs quirked a brow questioningly but said nothing. He wouldn't tell Jax that those quiet summer nights with your pretty young thing wrapped around you would be long gone some day, never to return. That you'd turn bitter and angry and drink yourself to sleep and join the fucking army to keep from thinking about her. Better to be a robot than someone who was capable of feeling pain.

He turned too, finding the SOA President in the center of the big common room, his boys gathered around him. "So," Clay started. "Our…indisposed…intelligence officer here figured out what time the security crew changes shifts at the docks."

Kyle nodded proudly from his position propped up against the bar; failing to notice that Tig had pulled his crutches away and hid them on the other side of the bar.

Clay sighed and made a disgusted face. "Anyway, we're going in full force right then. Guns a fuckin' blazing. Jax, Ope, and our new Scottish friend will snag the guns; the rest of us'll try to keep the dogs off you. I want guns in the van, hauling ass outta there in twenty minutes tops – that should get us out before Oakland cops show up. Oh," he grinned. "I've got disguises too."

Bobby opened up the cardboard box he'd been balancing on the edge of the pool table and started pulling out baggy black sweatshirts and ski masks. Clay pulled a ridiculously large medallion on at least a foot of gold plated chain out of his pocket and tossed it to Tig. "Here, try to look ghetto."

***

"You're here late."

Maggie startled upright in her chair at the voice, but quickly relaxed when she recognized her cousin in the doorway. "Yeah," she switched off the radio and the little room became painfully silent.

Gemma lingered in the doorway for a moment, head tilted in examination, one corner of her mouth pulled sideways. She looked as lovely as always, making a man's flannel shirt look like something straight off the pages of vogue, her dark hair teased and coiffed and sprayed into an edgy do. Her dark eyes had more gravity to them than the moon, and they always seemed able to pull information out of a person.

Maggie shuffled through the paperwork on the desk, purposefully avoiding looking into those brown crystal balls. "I just thought I'd get a jump start on tomorrow's invoices, you know? Line up the calls I need to make."

"Uh huh," Gemma sounded anything but convinced as she settled into the chair across from the desk.

Maggie heard the soft _click _of her Zippo and the gentle rush of exhaled breath before she smelled the smoke.

"I've seen you look that way before," Gemma said. "Same way John used to look when he did the bills and we were short on the insurance payments."

"Mom called today," Maggie finally sighed, tugging the elastic band out of her ponytail and massaging her sore scalp.

"What's that bitch want?"

"For me to come home."

"What'd you tell her?"

Maggie chuckled hollowly, just as amused at her own stupidity as her mother had been earlier that afternoon. She snuck a look at her cousin and felt a little less stupid. "That I haven't found what I'm looking for yet."

Gemma nodded, taking a deep drag on her cigarette and glancing at the wall, looking at but not really seeing the collage of pin-ups the guys had amassed over the years. "What time did the boys leave?" She would change the subject, save her little cousin from any more torture.

"Fifteen minutes ago," Maggie said. "All of them crammed into the van like goddamned sardines."

"You talk to Tig today?"

She frowned. "And why would I do that?"

Gemma shrugged. "I'm just curious."

"I'm not eighteen anymore, Gem. I'm not going to be _that _fucking stupid again."

"I know, baby," Gemma turned soft, sympathetic eyes to her. She swallowed thickly and Maggie could watch the emotions roll down her throat. "I know."

***

Jax adjusted the straps of the two empty duffel bags on his shoulders and passed a nervous glance across the deserted shipping yard. They were gathered at the gate, at the right smack in the front of the property gate, looking like gangsters in all black. Tig even had that damn medallion around his neck.

Bobby took the chain between a set of industrial bolt cutters and sliced through as if it were butter. The chain-link rattled as he slid the lock aside and rolled the wheeled gate open. They waited, collective breath held, and nothing happened.

Jax felt a hand on his shoulder and turned far enough to see that Chibs had a hold on him and Opie both. "You lads ready?" he asked quietly, his accent distinguishing him from the rest of the faceless bikers.

"Yeah," he whispered, feeling the adrenaline stir up in the base of his gut.

The tallest wraith nodded; Clay. He, Tig, Otto and Bobby each had a combat shotgun in their hands. Tig cocked his and the _click-clack _of the chambered round sounded as loud as thunder in the quiet of the night.

"Go," Otto said.

Jax took off at a jog after the Scotsman, ducking low and moving as fast as possible without making too much noise. They skirted a pyramid of empty shipping crates and slipped between two rows of containers. And then hell was unleashed behind them.

The gunfire tore open the night. Blast after blast rang out, echoing through the far corners of the lot. If the guards were running and shouting, Jax couldn't hear them.

The three of them ran until Jax thought the cold, damp air might punch right through his lungs. When the Scotsman finally drew to a halt, Jax stumbled and nearly crashed into Opie.

"This is it, boys," Chibs said, levering open the big swinging door. It groaned open and he clicked his flashlight on, illuminating the stack of crates inside.

Jax hurried inside, pulling the bags off his shoulders. The crate lids weren't nailed down and they flew off easily.

"I got the AKs," Opie said, pitching handfuls of packing straw to the floor.

"Glocks," Jax announced, pulling the clip of a nine mil out of his own crate.

The flare of a spotlight froze all of them. "What the hell? Get outta there, hands up!" an unfamiliar voice bellowed.

"Get the guns, Jackie-boy," Chibs said harshly.

"But…" Jax protested as he heard a bone-crunching _snap _over his shoulder.

"Now!" the Scotsman insisted.

Jax dug through his crate, ripping out gun parts and shoving them in his duffel bag. He heard Opie doing the same, both of them moving so fast their hands were a blur of steel and packing straw. When he zipped up his second, bulging bag, Jax turned and found Chibs standing over not one, but three unconscious guards. Blood dripped off his leather gloves onto the concrete and he looked up, brown eyes the only thing visible through the holes in his mask.

"We need to go, lads. Quickly."

Jax realized that the crash of gunfire and lulled and he hurried out of the container, stepping over the limp guards with a grimace. Standing right over them, he realized that their faces would never be the same. One of them looked like he might need plastic surgery.

***

"How'd it go?" Piney asked as the clubhouse doors banged open.

Clay tossed him a clip off one of the AK-47s and grinned tiredly. "Got the guns, got out alive. It was alright."

Jax had pushed his mask up to rest above his ears on the van ride back and he pulled it off now, flinging it in the general direction of the pool table. "You really saved our asses. Again." He told Chibs, knocking the Scotsman on the arm.

Opie nodded, eyes wide with agreement. "We owe you one, man."

"Goddamn…that was fucking amazing," Tig said, plopping down on the couch beside Piney. "Those dogs never knew what hit 'em."

Bobby had already pulled a beer out of the cooler and saluted the air with it. "Well done, boys. And, might I say, our new hang-around took care of the little ones mighty well."

Jax wrinkled his nose, hating to be considered one of the "little ones", but had to nod in agreement.

Chibs shrugged off the compliment.

All heads turned expectantly to Clay. The President was staring at the Scotsman, a thoughtful look lighting across his face. He took a slow swig of his beer and then aimed the neck of the bottle at Chibs. "I think it's time you picked out a bike, Prospect."


	5. FiXeR Upper

**Chapter 5: FiXeR-Upper**

**1994**

"This one."

Tig frowned and pushed his shades up on his forehead. He circled the bike, kicking at the flat front tire. "FXR," he sounded a little impressed with the choice. "I had one of these back in the day. This is…what…maybe an eighty-seven? Eighty-eight?"

Chibs took a quick drag on his cigarette to hide his pleased smile. They'd been walking around the salvage lot for an hour and a half, trying to find him a ride that was, as his sponsor put it "shitty enough for a prospect but not so lame they were embarrassed to be seen around him". Otto, the VP, had a buddy in Stockton who sold repo and foreclosure stock and had ended up with a pretty wide collection of bikes. The circumstances had led to a fascination of sorts and he was now one of the very best, little known sources for a used H-D.

"Hey, Ted!" Tig yelled.

Otto's friend joined them, scrubbing a hand through his patchy, sandy hair.

"What's the story with the FXR?" Tig asked.

Ted shrugged. "Came in off a truckload of scrap parts. Thing's in bad shape but it'll run okay with a little TLC."

"How much you want for it?" Chibs asked, already crunching his meager salary from T-M in his head.

"Eight if I deliver, six if you can get it outta here on your own."

"Thousand?"

"Hundred."

Tig smirked. "Nice bike, Prospect. Now let's see you get it in the back of the truck by yourself."

***

Maggie was standing on the bar, stringing colored Christmas lights along the ceiling above when her cousin came in.

"How's it goin'?" Gemma asked, setting her groceries down on one of the tables.

"Okay…" she winced as the staple gun backfired and one of the flying staples was lodged in her hand. "Shit!" she hissed.

"Smooth," Gemma grumbled good naturedly. "Can you get it or do you need help?"

Maggie examined the staple, staggering a bit when she realized that the prongs had gone _all the way _into her palm. Two little drops of blood glistened at the entrance points and she felt her nostrils flare. She didn't handle injury too well, especially when it was her own. She pinched the back of the staple between thumb and forefinger in preparation of drawing it out and gasped at the little nick of pain.

"Jesus Christ, sit down before you faint," Gemma ordered, smacking the top of the bar.

Maggie sat, cradling her wounded hand, and heard the tap turn on at the sink behind her.

"Run it under some cold water first, numb it up a little," Gemma suggested. She turned around and dug something out of one of her grocery bags, coming out with a giant bag of M&Ms. "Here, chocolate helps too," she grinned.

Before Maggie could hop off the bar, the clubhouse door banged open and she couldn't help but cringe when she registered Tig's sharp and distinctive cackled laughter. He was the last person she wanted to see when she was anything but radiant.

But as the Sgt at Arms stepped into the common room, another voice sounded, one with a heavy Scottish accent.

"What the hell happened to you?" Tig's laughter died and his smile turned into a sneer.

"She stapled her goddamned hand, what does it look like?" Gemma said, stepping neatly in front of her cousin. "I don't know why we even bother with lights and shit…only helps you see the skanks better."

Maggie used his distraction as an escape, sliding off the bar and going around behind it to the sink. She cringed as she poised her hand beside the running tap, not liking the thought of the stinging she knew it would induce.

"Hey, Scotty," she heard Gemma. "Aren't you a nurse or something?"

"Medic, actually," he sounded almost sheepish.

"Whatever…can you take a look at her hand? Got a little crazy with the staple gun again."

"Aye."

Maggie stiffened as she heard his boots come around the bar. He'd been nothing but polite to her, despite the use of some of her best one-liners, but this prospect bash was being thrown in his honor tonight. And she knew what that leather cut did to men's brains. The second Clay slid it up his arms; anything pleasant about him would be overridden by the all consuming force that was SAMCRO.

He stepped up beside her and she could smell the cigarette smoke and motor oil cologne that all the guys wore. His was subtly different though. _He _was subtly different as he carefully pulled her stapled hand away from the sink and rotated it between his own. She noticed again that his knuckles were black with healing bruises.

"Lemme see…" he was almost talking to her hand, reminding her of the family doctor the way he studied the wound and frowned at it. "It's alright. Won't hurt too bad, luv. Promise."

"Yeah, I've heard that before," she forced a laugh that sounded hollow to her own ears.

He looked up at her, tilting his head and arching his brows over those fiery, dark eyes of his. "But I mean it when I say it."

She was thankful that he dropped her hand and turned away; glad he didn't see the look of shock that she knew flashed across her face. It was like he'd read her mind, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. She didn't like it. She'd spent four years creating this image she had going and she wasn't about to let some newbie prospect get underneath it.

***

"What?" Tig snarled as he wrenched the top off his long neck Budweiser.

"First Aid kit?" Chibs repeated, more slowly this time.

The Sgt at Arms was shooting dark glances back towards the bar. "What? That big mouth of hers can't take care of a fucking staple?"

Chibs sighed. "Gemma asked me to patch her up."

Tig harrumphed loudly in the bag of is throat and plopped down on the couch. "Figure it out, Prospect," he muttered.

"Beautiful," Chibs said to himself, heading back to the bar and the girl. Way to piss off his sponsor before he even got his cut.

Maggie…he forced himself to think her name…was squeezing at her palm, only succeeding in drawing more blood and making herself wince.

"Naw, that won't do," he moved her hand gently aside and she jumped a bit, turning eyes up to him that were suddenly fearful and not at all what he'd seen from her so far.

"Sorry," she muttered, drawing a shaky breath. "You startled me."

"You have a kit around here?"

She nodded. "Medicine cabinet in the bathroom."

He put his hand on her elbow and steered her gently forward, not wanting to ruffle her further.

She shrugged off his touch and led the way down the back hall to the general use bathroom, groaning as she flicked on the lights. "Jesus Christ," she turned her nose up as she kicked the toilet lid closed. "You guys are pigs."

He held up a hand defensively. "I've only been here two weeks, darlin', don't blame it all on me."

That earned him a smile. She pulled open the mirrored cabinet face with her good hand and pulled out a tin first aid kit that looked like it hadn't been opened in centuries. "I don't know what you think you'll need, but it should be in there."

He set it on the counter and popped the lid, thankful that the bandages were at least wrapped. He pulled out the peroxide and some gauze, a little piece of medical tape, and a suspiciously grimy pair of tweezers. He doused them with peroxide and toweled them off on his shirt. "You always so squeamish?" he asked her.

She frowned. "Yeah. Guess I'm not as tough as Wonder Woman out there," she nodded toward the hall. "Gem's made outta steel or some shit."

He took her hand gently in his and rolled it palm-up, reaffirming his initial thought that the staple prongs had gone straight in and hadn't done much damage. "This is nothing," he told her. "Seen a lot worse." He wanted to prompt her into talking, take her mind off what he was about to do.

"I bet," she said. "You must've been around some nasty shit being in the military and all. How long did you serve?"

He grimaced as he gripped the staple carefully between the teeth of the tweezers. "Five months. Apparently, Her Majesty's armed forces don't take too kindly to you sneaking IRA across the border."

"No kidding?" she asked with a laugh, the sound turning to a gasp as he yanked the staple out.

"You're fine," he assured. "It's out. Just lemme dress it and you'll be good as new."

He checked quickly and saw her grimace, but she didn't pull away as the peroxide bubbled across the punctures. "I guess you got tossed."

"Aye."

"Is that when…you know…did you get those…scars…in the army?"

"No," he shook his head, feeling his own grimace blossom. "No, that was before…a long time ago."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to pry."

He smoothed the tape down over the gauze and rubbed his thumb over her bandage one final time, making sure it would hold. He gave her a curious look, again struck that this was the same girl who'd greeted him with such boldness that first day.

"And," she sighed in response to his look. "I apologize for being so weird. I'm not normally this -,"

"Jumpy?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "You done?"

"Oh," he dropped her hand. "Aye. You're good to go."

"Thanks." She smiled half-heartedly and exited the bathroom, leaving him to pack up the kit.

He shook his head and regarded his reflection for a moment. She was both hot and cold, full of sauce and come ons one second and flinching away from him the next. He didn't understand and didn't want to. That would require a level of closeness that he had denied himself for a long time now.

**1983**

**Belfast, Ireland**

She was standing at the sink, staring at her reflection and drawing in ragged breaths that left her pale and shaking. She'd been sick for weeks, nauseas because of the hormone changes, but he'd never seen her like this.

"Maggie."

Her eyes snapped up to meet his in the mirror and they looked five shades lighter, huge and wild.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked, suddenly a little fearful. He slid an arm around her waist, moving his hand around until it rested on her belly, above their child.

"He called," she said quietly and his blood ran cold.

"What…what did he say?" he was afraid to ask. He knew what the answer would be.

"He's coming," she whispered. "All of them. They're coming."

He put his other arm around her and she turned, burying her face in his shoulder. He felt the hot wetness of her tears soak through the front of his shirt. "It'll be alright," he soothed, rubbing her back with slow, circular motions. "He won't hurt you, not once he knows."

"It's not me I'm worried about!" she cried, pushing away from him suddenly. "He already knows – he knows, Filip, about the baby, about everything!" She grabbed double fistfuls of his shirt and tried with all her insubstantial size to shake him. "Don't you understand?" she pleaded. "He'll kill you."

He put his hand on her cheek, brushed the stream of tears aside with his thumb and leaned close, wanting her to look at him, wanting her to be calm. "How can they kill me, huh? I'm undefeated," he tried at humor.

"Filip," she shook her head, not amused. "This isn't funny."

"I know," he sighed. "How long do we have? We'll get out of town, head over to the mill -,"

"An hour," she said softly. "They'll be here in an hour."

**1994**

The glass walls of the clubhouse kitchen were all steamed up and Jax realized why when he stepped in and was slapped with the heavy scent of sautéed unions. "Damn, that smells good," he said appreciatively.

"We're trying to cover up the au de sweaty biker the rest of this place reeks of," Maggie griped, shoving him aside as she carried a steaming pot to the sink.

Gemma, Maggie, Luann, and Bobby's current wife, Sarah, were a flurry of knives and salad tongs, veggies and meat and seasoning flying in every direction, somehow all of it finding the appropriate pot.

"You bring the extra plates?" Luann questioned, waving her meat tenderizer at him. The blond porn producer wore a tight black corset number that looked like it belonged at a Victoria's Secret shoot rather than a party.

He held up the two packages of Dixie plates for proof. "Yup."

"Here," Gemma pulled them from his hands and tossed them to Sarah. "Go check on the grill," she said. "Steaks are ready to go on."

"I think I saw Tig come in for an extra thing of lighter fluid," he laughed.

Maggie rolled her eyes. "God help us all. You have the FD on stand by?"

"Relax," he gave his cousin a quick peck on the cheek. "Let us men worry about stuff like fire."

Gemma barked a laugh. "Yeah. That's what Clay said right before he lost both eyebrows in the tragic rib incident of Thanksgiving ninety-four. I thought you were bringing your little tart tonight?" she frowned.

He sighed. "Girlfriend, Mom. And yeah, she's outside."

"With the guys?" all women asked as one, incredulous.

"With Donna and Opie."

"Bring her in," Gemma instructed. "If she's not a crow eater, she's gonna cook."

***

By the time Maggie made it to the side parking lot with the second plate of chicken, the flames on the grill had gotten so high that Tig and Bobby were quite literally throwing the steaks onto it, whooping and yelling when they landed flat and didn't roll off onto the concrete.

She made a face at Tara and Donna as she joined them at their picnic table. "You can take the caveman out of the ice age…" she muttered, earning nervous chuckles from both girls. "You two alright? Not overly traumatized yet?"

Tara raised dark brows as she took a swig of Coke. "I gotta admit, Jax told me these things were a little wild, but I had no idea."

"Be glad the strippers aren't here yet," Maggie said.

"Strippers?" Donna paused, a chip loaded with salsa suspended in front of her mouth. "Are you serious?"

Maggie shrugged. "Don't worry, your boys are saints, just don't get in between those two and anything with nipples," she jerked a thumb back towards the duo at the grill. "Let's just say the old ladies go home early at these new prospect bashes."

The younger girls were quiet for a moment, chewing and shooting nervous glances around the lot for any suspicious looking stilettos and fish nets. Maggie took a swig of her beer and Tara pointed curiously at the bandage on her hand.

"What happened there?"

"Stapled myself," Maggie shrugged. "The, uh…prospect…patched me up."

Donna nodded, recognition dawning. "The Scottish guy? Opie said he used to be some kind of war medic or something."

"So he says," Maggie said, rubbing a thumb over the carefully applied gauze. She would never have pegged the rough looking Scot as someone with any sort of medical knowledge. It had been a pleasant surprise. She recalled the way his fingers had glided over her skin, so careful and so soft. A little shiver raced up her spine.

"S'up, ladies?" Jax asked, joining them and sliding in between Tara and Donna. "Y'all having a good time?"

"Oh yeah," Maggie smiled sarcastically. "It's a barrel of fucking monkeys."

He scowled at her as he slid an arm around his girlfriend. "Don't be bitter that you don't have a date, Mags."

"She doesn't need a date, she's an independent working woman of the day," Tara said, sticking up for her fellow female.

Maggie stood and clinked her beer bottle against the younger girl's Coke can. "Hold on tight to this one, cuz. She's smart."

***

Clay poked his charred steak with the tip of his knife, curling his lip a bit. "Jesus…what the hell'd you do to these? Weld them?"

Bobby held up both hands defensively. "Don't look at me; Chef Boyardee over there's the one who put TWO cans of kerosene on the fire."

"Biggest goddamned fire I've ever seen," Tig said proudly.

"Yeah," Otto shook his head. "I can tell."

"Alright," Clay set his plate aside and turned to Chibs. "I hear you picked up a ride today."

"Eighty-seven FXR," Tig chimed in before the Scot could respond. "It's a real broke-down piece of shit."

Clay shrugged. "Well, it's still an FXR. Put a little work into it and it'll be a good ride."

"You go over to Ted's place?" Otto asked.

"Yeah." Chibs liked Otto. He was a little like Bobby but with longer hair; quiet, unassuming, you-leave-me-alone-I'll-leave-you-alone kind of guy. Nothing like his sponsor.

"Ted's a good guy," Otto grinned. "Sold me my first bike back when I was fifteen."

"Hey, when's your next fight?" Kyle asked from the camp chair he'd been forced to set up. His leg was in a cast from hip down and he couldn't stand for long.

Chibs shrugged.

"Oh, that's right," Bobby said. "I of course didn't get to see the last one because I was…" he rolled his eyes toward Tig. "Babysitting."

"Aw man, this guy was unbelievable!" Kyle said enthusiastically. "You shoulda seen the way he tore into those guys." He pantomimed punching, making all the appropriate sound effects.

"I dunno," Tig's face cracked into a nasty grin. "I don't think our little Scotty dog has it in him." He leaned across Kyle and poked Chibs, hard, in the chest. "Cage fighter? Sounds bogus to me."

Chibs felt all his muscles leap under his skin at the challenge, but he remained still, thankful that his shades hid the sudden flare that ignited behind his eyes.

"I don't know, Tigger," Otto's voice was even, but it carried a heavy warning. "I wouldn't wanna make this guy mad."

"What?" Tig spread his arms, inviting the challenge. "You gonna scare me with those scars or something? This isn't Scotland, bro. We don't go down so easy around here."

"Really?" Chibs asked and the others became suddenly quiet. "Would you like to find out?"

***

Maggie joined the table of old ladies and elbowed her cousin in the arm. "What's going on?" she asked of the sudden crowd that had formed around the club's boxing ring.

Gemma coughed a laugh. "Tig challenged the new guy to a match. Should be interesting."

"Otto says the Scotsman's a boxer," Luann said, eyes alight with gossip as she leaned around her friend. "Maybe we'll get to watch that big asshole get some of his own medicine tonight."

She and Maggie shared a delicate high-five across Gemma's lap. The Queen waved them away. "Don't get ahead of yourselves," she chastised. "Let's just see what happens."

***

Chibs slid between the ropes into the ring and the chattering of the other men swelled when he peeled his shirt off over his head. He wasn't vain, and he wasn't eighteen anymore, but he'd looked in a mirror. He knew that he was one big bundle of twitching muscle.

His sponsor was a big guy, and no doubt enjoyed a local record for bashing heads, but he wasn't a trained, disciplined fighter. It didn't make a difference on the streets of Charming, but in this ring, up against someone who'd been bobbing and weaving for the past twelve years; it would be the end of him.

Bobby climbed in too and stood between them, hands outstretched. "Let me have everybody's attention!" he boomed in his stage voice. "Tonight, against my better judgment, we're gonna let our prospect go up against ol' Tigger here. I want a clean fight, boys," he looked to each of them in turn.

Chibs nodded and Tig cackled.

"Alright, then, round one!" Bobby yelled and ducked out of the ring.

Chibs clenched his hands until his knuckles cracked in that old familiar way. "Oh yeah," he whispered to himself. "Come on, fucker."

***

Maggie watched the two bikers approach one another, something like excitement twisting in her belly. She chalked it up to a purely physical reaction at the sight of Chibs' chiseled physique and tried to smother the emotion. Attraction had landed her in some deep shit in the past.

"Ooh-la-la," Sarah said appreciatively.

"No shit, I'm gonna have to get Otto a set of dumbbells," Luann chuckled.

The two circled, sizing one another up, and then a tell tale sneer ran across Tig's face. "Here we go," Gemma said.

Tig threw the first punch, or at least, he tried to. Chibs sidestepped it neatly and sent the other man staggering across the ring. Jeers erupted among the rest of the guys and Tig circled back, clearly pissed at the exchange. "Come on!" he yelled at the Scotsman. "You got any hits in there, or are you just a goddamned ballerina?"

In answer, Chibs ducked in under his fists and popped Tig square in the middle of his big, hawkish nose.

Maggie jolted straight on her perch, spine going rigid as she saw the blood come coursing out of Tig's nose. The Sgt at Arms let loose a string of profanity that would have made a sailor blush. Chibs danced away, the tiniest of smiles brushing his lips. She felt her own smile start to form as her hands clenched into fists against her knees.

"Damn," Gemma said. "I've never seen anyone do _that _before."

"Come on, Tig! You gonna let him get away with that?" Kyle yelled from his chair.

Obviously not. Tig put his fists up and rushed at the Scotsman, letting the punches fly. Chibs deflected each one with a fluid grace that put the other man to shame. He looked almost bored, tired with the exercise. Then he threw out a right hook that knocked Tig completely off his feet. He went down hard, landing on all fours, blood spraying the mat.

Maggie leapt up onto the picnic table as the screams of the other bikers reached a crescendo. "Kick his ass!" she yelled, pumping a fist in the air.

Gemma tugged roughly on the leg of her jeans and the other women gave her startled looks. "What the hell's wrong with you?" her cousin demanded.

Maggie didn't care. She stood on her tip toes to see over the other's heads, giddy and breathless as she watched Tig get back up only to be backed into a corner by the Scotsman's rapid-fire jabs. The Sgt at Arms wasn't even trying to protect himself anymore; he couldn't anyway. He was bloody all over and starting to look wobbly. She hoped maybe he'd suffered some kind of brain damage.

Bobby finally jumped back in the ring, pulling Chibs away. "Calm down, boys," he ordered. "This ain't a death match."

Tig slumped down to his knees and Maggie applauded furiously. Chibs, still panting and twitching for another round, shot a look through the parking lot. She flashed him a thumbs up when she felt his eyes pass over her. He smiled.

***

"How's our boy?" Gemma asked as Clay ambled over to their table.

He made a face that equal parts grin and wince. "Otto's trying to stop that big nose from bleeding. I think the _Prospect _broke it." He chuckled at the Scotsman's title. "That was some crazy shit."

"That was some awesome shit," Maggie corrected, drawing another round of funny looks.

Clay sat down beside his wife and across from the twenty-two-year-old. "I thought I heard one of the women yelling something about asses getting kicked," he grinned at her. "That wouldn't have been you, would it?"

She shrugged. She looked, again, across the parking lot to where Chibs now sat with Jax and Opie. Tara and Donna looked less than enthusiastic to be within five feet of the guy who'd just taken Tig down, but the guys were ecstatic, thumping him on the back and grinning like idiots. Maggie contemplated joining them…

"Whoo-hoo!" Kyle cheered and Maggie looked over her shoulder to see four women, the first of many, approaching their gathering. Sweetbutts.

"Choo choo, the ho train has arrived," she muttered, sliding off the bench. "I'm heading in to clean up the kitchen," she told Gemma.

"Yeah, we're coming."

She walked quickly back toward the clubhouse, anxious to get into the kitchen and draw the blinds before the _real _party got cranked up. She would do the absolute minimum as far as clean-up went and sneak out the back. She didn't want to be within five feet of the place once the tops started coming off.

She was so focused on her destination that she didn't see the Scotsman until she'd already run smack into him. "Sorry," she said quickly, trying to step aside. "I didn't see you."

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked, frowning slightly. "I didn't even get to thank you for being my biggest fan."

She gestured over her shoulder to the crow eaters that were rapidly taking up seats in the guys' laps. "You'll have plenty of fans tonight," she said softly.

He gave her a questioning look and she smiled thinly. "Thanks though."

"For what?"

She popped him lightly on the arm before she walked away, trying not to think about how hard and strong the limb felt through the thin cotton of his shirt. "For finally shutting that big asshole up. That might be the best damn thing I've ever seen."

She knew he was probably confused, but she didn't know how else to act at the moment. Her head and her libido had locked horns and left her feeling breathless and terrified. All the old memories, the emotions came flooding back in thick, bloody waves. Not like it mattered to him though; in a handful of minutes he wouldn't have anything to worry about except whose lips were around his dick.

**TBC**


	6. Bruises

**AN: I'm not really satisfied with this chapter, but I've fiddled it to death and can't figure out what else to do with it. So here it is. Also, I had a question about Jax and Opie's ages. I have them set at 17 here, Chibs is 30, Tig, Bobby, and Clay are all in the 36+ range and Gemma is 36. **

**Chapter 6: Bruises **

**Present Day**

"Holy shit!" Juice managed after his fit of laughter had subsided to the occasional snort.

"Hey…it wasn't that goddamn funny," Tig pouted.

Jax and Chibs shared a look and a chuckle. "Aww, poor Tigger," Chibs said, leaning over to try and ruffle the other man's hair. "Did it hurt when I knocked your teeth in?"

"Get lost, shithead," the Sgt at Arms waved him away. "I'm with the Prospect, fuck all y'all."

Clay smiled at the memory of the fight. "Good times."

"So," Juice scooted eagerly to the edge of his bench, brown eyes wide and eager like a kindergartner at story time. "What happened after that?"

Jax shrugged. "He did his time, same as you, and got patched in."

The youngest member looked disappointed. "That's it? No more fights? No more shooting up the shipping yard?"

"I'm not Rambo, kid," Chibs said. "It wasn't that exciting."

Juice looked disappointed, but he shrugged and fished a smoke out of his pocket.

Truthfully, there was more to the story, a lot more, but Juice would never hear about it. And save for the few parts that involved Tig, the others would remain in the dark as well. Jax took a final drag on his own cigarette and relinquished it to the pavement. No, he decided, he would never tell. He would never mention the slain dragons or the princess at the top of the tower. Chibs' history with the MC was no fairy tale. And only fairy tales went down in books to be recounted years later. No one gave a shit about a misfit biker and the trouble he found in a town called Charming.

**1994**

Only one part of high school wasn't shitty; lunch. Jax sat with Opie in the courtyard off the side entrance, hiding a smoke behind a half eaten apple and watching the rest of the students buzz around them in a flurry of school spirit and academic progress.

"I hate this shit," Opie muttered, crumpling up his brown paper bag and tossing it towards the trash can. He missed.

"Four more days and we'll be off for Christmas break," Jax reminded, already more than anxious for the holiday.

Opie shook his head. "Yeah, and then a whole other _year _before we're done for good."

Jax smirked. "Dude, you telling me you're not outta this hell hole the second you turn eighteen?"

"Depends on how much of a stink Pop makes about it."

Jax nodded. He knew Gemma would make some half-hearted stabs at promoting his education, but she'd cave after a week and let him off on the promise that he'd get his GED one of these days.

"How's it hangin', fags?" a voice boomed off to their left.

Jax and Opie turned, already frowning to see Keith Byers, defensive end for the football team, strolling across the courtyard, complete with letter jacket and jackass haircut.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Jax quipped, dismissing the big meat head with a shake of his head.

"What was that, Teller?" Keith cracked his knuckles loudly as he drew up to them.

"He said he left his donkey at home in case you're looking for something willing to fuck you," Opie deadpanned.

Jax bit back a grin, loving his friend's ability to be so cool in situations like this.

Keith's big square face crumpled when he frowned. "You two better watch your damn mouths, faggot-ass wannabe bikers."

"Oh," Jax leapt up, throwing apple and cigarette aside. He stepped up to the jock, ignoring Opie's wave for him to calm down. "You wanna say that shit again, asshole?"

"Awesome," Opie muttered.

***

Chibs frowned at the mess of bike innards he had strewn about him on the concrete. Taking his FXR apart had been easy – putting it back together…not so much. It was a little after four and while the regular mechanics were still at work, the Sons had called it quits for the day. Clay and the guys were in "church", a meeting he was of course not privy to as a prospect. So he'd slipped on his cut, bare as it was with only a Prospect bottom rocker and an MC patch, and decided to spend the dead time working on his bike.

A loud bang issued from the clubhouse and he looked up to see the club President striding across the lot toward the garage office. He looked pissed. "You," he pointed a finger at Chibs and motioned for him to come. "Get in here."

Chibs scrambled after his boss, joining him in the doorway to the office.

"We got a problem," Clay sighed.

Maggie perked up behind the desk. "What?"

"Got a call, in the clubhouse of all damn places, Jax and Ope are being _detained _after school 'cause they got into a goddamn fight and need a parent to sign them out."

Maggie chuckled. "It was that asshole Byers, wasn't it?"

Clay made a face. "Like I know or give a shit. I can't get a hold of Gem and we're in the middle of something -,"

"No sweat," Maggie flipped the ledger shut and started pulling her purse over her shoulder. "I got this one, cuz," she told Clay as she stood.

He sighed again. "Thanks, Mags. Oh, and take this one," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Chibs felt his brows quirk in surprise. He and Maggie shared a curious look.

"What for?" she asked.

"Back-up," Clay said. "That vice principal's a serious bitch and you're little."

She rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ. Alright, come on, Scotty."

***

Maggie had a Monte Carlo that had obviously enjoyed some attention from the T-M guys. Chibs supposed there were perks to having a family full of mechanics at your disposal; your ride was automatically outfitted with the shiniest, smartest little touches that turned heads in Charming. He sat silently in the passenger seat, listening to Foreigner on the radio and trying to decide if today was a hot day or a cold day for the garage manager.

"I'm a little surprised," she said at last, drawing his gaze.

It spooked him for a second when he looked across the interior of the car and realized how blond her hair looked in the sunlight. It stirred up old memories…

"Surprised at what?" he managed to find his voice.

"That you didn't snag the keys and demand to drive," she said. "You know, that whole 'bitches ride bitch' thing."

"The what thing?"

She shot him a "you're kidding" look, hazel eyes dancing. Okay, definitely a hot day. He could have sat there and watched her all day, just looked at her. The sun's rays passed through the driver's side window and gilded her arms. Living in California, she didn't have that soft, creamy look like the girls did back home; but she was different and it was a good thing. Similarities always seemed to bog him down.

"Dude, you seriously need to start picking up the whole biker lingo thing if you're gonna hang around with this bunch," she laughed, turning her eyes back to the road.

"Alright then, you're-so-smart," he said, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "Teach me."

"Teach you?"

"Aye."

"Biker slang?" she made a disgusted face. "Isn't that what your _sponsor _is for?"

"I'm pretty sure he's dreaming up ways to make my life a living hell right now," he winced.

"That's right…" she sighed softly, the sound as quiet and unsuspecting as a rustle of bird wings. "That was great though. I've been waiting a loooong time for someone to knock the shit out of him."

He recalled her leaping up on top of the table and egging him on. Curiosity got the best of him. "I've been wondering about that…why so anxious for him to get knocked around, huh? You really that violent?"

Her face sourced, her entire demeanor turning to something dark and icy in the flick of a switch. "When it comes to Tig, yeah. You could say that."

He had meant his comment as a joke but she had obviously taken it another way. Now he'd gone and turned her cold again. "Why so angry, luv?" he asked softly.

She scowled and he saw her knuckles whiten over the steering wheel. "I'm not."

"Trust me," he said. "I've seen angry, and you're it, darlin'."

She braked hard as they pulled up in front of the school and it sent him lurching forward, grabbing at the dash to keep his face from smashing into it. He suddenly wished he hadn't been too cool for a seatbelt. "Hey, now…" he started, but she was already disengaging her key from the ignition and wrestling her door open.

"Let's just go-,"

"Wait a minute," he snagged her wrist and squeezed just hard enough to let her realize that he was plenty strong enough to restrain her further if necessary. She struggled for a moment and he increased the pressure, drawing a vicious scowl.

"My cousin and her hubby will have your ass for this, Scotsman," she hissed, eyes wide with fury. "You let go of me right now-,"

"Or what? You'll give me the cold shoulder again?" He scowled at her. "I don't know what your problem is, little girl, but I haven't done anything to you. One second you're trying to jump my bones and the next you're jumping away from me. If you don't like me, then stay away from me, otherwise, quit fuckin' with my head."

Her expression had slowly compressed during his speech, turning to one of pinched anxiety. "You know why I act so vulgar?" she asked so softly he had to strain to hear. "All that trash talk, all that dirty stuff, it keeps guys from getting too close. They think I'm a whore, they won't give me the time of day." She leaned forward, so close their noses almost touched, near enough that he could smell her cherry chap stick. "There's not a place in Charming for a nice, quiet girl from Flagstaff. And I won't get my heart stomped on, not again. The third time _is not _the charm."

His fingers went a little limp and she took the opportunity to wrestle free and climb out of the car. Her door slammed hard enough to rock the Monte Carlo back and forth on its tires.

"Oh Christ," he muttered, hurrying out after her. He grabbed her arm and half expected to get slapped for it.

She turned around, now more composed and quiet, no longer seething.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea, luv," he told her. "I got the warning speech from Jackie-boy. You're family and ain't available for the taking. I have no intentions of _stomping _on your heart."

She narrowed her eyes. "You done?"

"Aye."

"Then shut up and do your job," she said, pulling her arm free. She marched up the sidewalk toward the front of the school, hands curled into strained fists at her sides.

He sighed heavily and gave her a head start. Here he was trying to play the nice guy for a change, leave the boss's cousin-in-law alone, and all he'd caught for his trouble was hell. Fine. She wanted to be a bitch; he'd wait in the car. He'd come up with some excuse for Clay. He was a man, and married to Gemma no less…he'd understand the predicament.

She got all the way to the door, her hand outstretched for the handle, when he felt himself leap into a jog to go after her. He shouldn't have been surprised. Not like he'd ever been able to let _his _Maggie walk away before.

**1983**

"No!" she was full-on sobbing now, the tears on her cheeks hidden by the rain that threatened to wash both of them down into the gutter and out into the channel. "Why won't you listen to me?" she screamed above the soft roar of the falling water. "Do you know what they'll do to you?! If they don't kill you, you'll wish you were dead!"

"I'm not letting you go to them alone," he said, feeling something in his chest tighten until he couldn't breathe regularly anymore. This must be what true desperation felt like.

Maggie shook her head furiously, wet hair slapping back and forth. "If you love me, you'll disappear, Filip. Do it for me, please! Do it for her," she swept an unconscious hand across her belly. Across their baby.

"We left Scotland to get away from them," he knew his voice was cracking and didn't care. "I won't let you go back. I just won't."

"What choice do we have?" she put a trembling hand against his chest. "We knew it was only a matter of time -,"

"No." He wrapped his fingers around her wrist as she started to pull away. "I won't let go of you."

**1994**

Maggie put her back to the office door and turned around to aim a warning finger at him. "Here's how this works. I do the talking; you do the scary stare-down if the Vice Principal tries to give us too much trouble. No speaking, no posturing, no club bullshit in here. They'll see the cut and know who we are. You clear?"

"Crystal," he sighed.

She gave him a funny look. "I'm sorry about…out there."

"No need to apologize, luv."

She rolled her eyes. "You and your Scottish good manners," she muttered, flipping the lever handle on the door and shouldering it open.

Neither were prepared for the scene that greeted them. The office as a whole was separated into a general reception area that fed into the actual offices of the Principal, Vice Principal, and councilor. Along one wall, all holding bloody tissues to some part of their faces, were six football players in letter jackets. The secretary at the desk was eyeing them over the rims of her half-moon glasses and chewing the inside of her cheek with disdain.

"Holy shit," Maggie quickly covered a laugh with her hand and turned dancing eyes back to Chibs. "They beat up half the fucking football team!" she whispered excitedly.

He swallowed his own laugh and nudged her when he realized that the secretary had turned her matronly frown toward them, beady little eyes slipping into nonexistence as her eyes ghosted over his cut.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked in an accusatory way that suggested they'd do better just to get the hell out.

Maggie wiped her smile away and pasted on a very official, adult-like expression of concern. Chibs was impressed. "Yes, actually," she tilted her head just a fraction so that she had to literally look down her nose at the woman. "Maggie Lawson. I understand my little cousin has been detained after school and I need to speak to whoever is responsible."

The secretary fired another suspicious look up at Chibs. "That'd be Teller I'm assuming."

"And Opie Winston," Maggie said. "I'm here for both of them."

"What, they couldn't get a hold of _Mrs. Teller_?" she said the name like it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Oh," Maggie faked surprise. "Would you rather talk to Gemma? I was doing her a favor but I'm sure I can get her up here in a jiffy," she leaned across the desk as if to grab for the phone and the secretary staved her off with a beefy arm.

"No no no," she said quickly. "I'll go talk to Mrs. Sherman. Gimme a minute." She lumbered up from her chair and headed back toward the cluster of offices.

"Ooh, you're scary, Ms. Lawson," Chibs teased.

She twitched a small smile. "What can I say? It runs in the family."

***

"I think that one broke his nose," Opie whispered.

"He's gonna have one helluva a shiner tomorrow," Jax said proudly, nodding toward the biggest of the three defensive players. The ox had an ice pack over his left eye and moaned occasionally, drawing unpleasant looks from his teammates.

The two "deviants" had been kicked out of the office while Maggie talked things over with the Vice Principal. From the muffled sounds of heated conversation coming through the door, Gemma's cousin was doing better than just holding her own. Chibs sat on a bench with the young bikers, enjoying the way the football players squirmed if they so much as looked at them. The muscle-heads reminded him of the rugby thugs back home. Dickheads.

"I'm impressed, kids," Chibs said. "Where'd you lads learn to hold your own like that?"

"Dad," Jax said with a bit of a wistful smile.

"And the guys," Opie added. "You don't grow up in the MC and not learn how to throw a punch."

"Aye. I guess that's so."

"What about you?" Opie asked. "How'd you get to be a boxer like that?"

He shrugged, not wanting to drag out all that old shit and really examine it in the light of day. "I came from a bad housing development…Glasgow can be a rough place if you're in the wrong parts of it."

"Do you mind if I ask about…" Jax drew invisible lines across his cheeks with his thumb and forefinger and nodded at the Scot. "…you know. The face?"

Chibs sighed.

"McKeevy called it what, a Glasgow Smile?" Opie prodded.

"They call it many things, boys."

"How bad did it hurt?" Jax asked.

He shrugged. It had hurt like hell, worse, a new kind of pain that he really couldn't put a name to but settled for 'hell' when he couldn't find the words. But he'd blocked it from memory, forced all those mental pictures away. Because the Smile hadn't hurt even half as much as hearing that his Maggie was dead. The knife biting into his flesh had been the physical manifestation for his heartbreak. The scars were those caused by the death of his soul mate, not the blade itself. In some sick, twisted part of his mind, he enjoyed them. They marked him. Just as scarred on the outside as the inside.

The door beside them opened and closed loudly, pulling him back out of his quagmire of memory and distracting the boys from their questions. Maggie had her arms folded, mouth drawn up in a tight little bow. She tilted her head to the side as she examined the three of them and the family resemblance between her and Gemma became noticeable. They both had the strong bone structure and big, deep-set eyes of women who didn't resort to girlish charm so easily. It obviously hadn't been used in this case.

"Alright boys," she was stern. "I managed to sweet talk that bitch into letting you off light since you were provoked."

"Sweet talk?" Jax asked with a laugh.

"Hell yeah we were provoked," Opie justified.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Point is, she wants you to have out-of-school suspension for this shit. She wanted it to wait until after the new year, but I managed to talk her down to just four days and it starts now, so it looks like your Christmas break starts early."

"Hell yes!"

"Hold on," she held up a finger. "That doesn't mean candy and blow jobs all around just yet, amigos. After I talk to Gemma and Piney -,"

They groaned.

"-I'll pretty much own you bitches. You're gonna be stepping and fetching your little asses off at the garage. You fucked up and there's consequences for that."

"I thought you were supposed to be the fun one," Jax complained. "This ain't fair."

She smiled smugly. "Bitch all you want, kiddos. You owe me big time. Oh," her smile changed just enough that her eyes glittered. "Nice job with the football jerk-offs."

***

Gemma's Firebird was slanted in front of the office when they pulled back in to T-M. Maggie chuckled as Jax and Opie grimaced. They didn't even have the kickstands out on their bikes yet and Gemma was striding toward them with that death-by-mother look on her face.

"Oh no," Maggie laughed. "Here it comes."

Gemma grabbed hold of her son's ear and quite literally dragged him off his bike and toward the office. Opie followed, knowing there was no use in avoiding the ass-chewing any longer.

"How bad's it gonna be?" Chibs asked, climbing out of the Monte Carlo.

She joined him at the hood of the car and leaned back against it. "Hard to say…it'll go easier since she figures I already gave him a good talking-to."

He chuckled.

"What?"

"It's just all a little strange to me. A few nights ago he was sneaking guns outta shipping crates and his mum throws a party. He gets in a fight at school…" he shook his head. "Where was she when I was growin' up?"

He glanced sideways at the visible corner of her mouth and saw it turn down in a frown. "It's funny," she said. "Gemma overlooks all the club stuff as just that; club stuff. But with school…that's town stuff. There's a difference. No matter what goes on at home with your family, you need to put a good face out there for the rest of the world. Don't look like a criminal and no one will think you are one."

He nodded. "Makes sense."

"You know," her voice got so soft he had to strain to hear her. "My mom always told me that my cousin was weak, 'as much backbone as the wind' she always said. I thought that too for a time. She associated with these…bikers…like a woman desperate for approval. But I realized something."

"What's that?"

She turned to him slowly, eyes distant and faraway. "It takes more than backbone to love someone in this crowd. It takes balls and brains and a heart that doesn't crack too easily. Gem's the toughest damn woman I've ever met."

"What? You're not that tough too?"

She smiled sadly. "Maybe one of these days."

"Mags!" Gemma's call shook both of them out of the sudden daze.

Chibs shoved away from his position against the car as the Queen walked up, not wanting to look overly interested in her cousin.

"Jesus Christ, those boys are gonna be the death of me," Gemma grumbled. She took a final drag on the cigarette she held between upraised fingers and tossed it to the pavement. "Good job though, kiddo," she gave Maggie a quick hug. "I think they were sufficiently miserable after whatever you told them."

Then, to his surprise, she turned and pulled Chibs against her in a tight, but platonic hug. He held his arms suspended above her, slightly freaked, and shot Maggie a _what the hell do I do? _face.

She just rolled her eyes. Absolutely no help.

"Thanks, sweetie," Gemma told him. She pushed away and patted him on the arm. "I appreciate you looking after all the kids today," she inclined her head toward Maggie to include her as well.

"Of course…?" he tried and failed to hide his confusion.

Gemma pulled a pack of Newports out of her back pocket and shook out another one. "I expect you to be at my Christmas party," she told Chibs as she headed back toward her car.

He looked at Maggie for confirmation.

She grinned. "Lighten up. She likes you."

"I take it that's a good thing?"

"A _very _good thing."

**TBC**


	7. Stupid F ing Christmas

**AN: Okay, so fair warning, here's where we found out what happened to '83 Maggie. Not graphic, just a mention.**

**Chapter 7: Stupid F-ing Christmas**

**1994**

"Why so glum, Jackie-boy?"

The blond biker's face contorted into an expression that was something along the lines of _fuck you_. "Stupid fucking Christmas," he muttered, hefting the cardboard box he carried to his other hip.

Chibs fell into step beside him, picking up the tail end of a strand of faux pine garland that was trailing down out of the box. He rolled it up and stuffed it back into the top as they walked. "Aye. I don't understand why women think baby Jesus wanted us to put tree parts all over the house and hang old socks on the mantle. Ridiculous."

"Amen, brother," Jax sighed as they reached Gemma's Firebird. He set the box down on the trunk lid and scratched his chin, obviously trying to figure out how he was going to get it inside the slanted little muscle car. "Mom's a Christmas freak though, any excuse to get everyone together and cook a bunch of food. Which, by the way, is totally worth the decorating. Mom roasts a lamb like nobody's business."

Opie joined them, a stack of small boxes balanced precariously in one arm, a big wreath hooked on the other one. "Why does your mom keep all this shit at the clubhouse?" he grumbled. "We gotta go through this every year."

"She doesn't want the clutter at the house," Jax rolled his eyes. "Sure, just clutter up our attic instead."

***

Maggie tapped the invoices against the desk, aligning them all into one neat stack, and climbed out of the chair in search of Clay. Three of their parts suppliers required not just her signature, but that of the store owner as well. As little as they cared about the legitimacy of SAMCRO business transactions, the club was serious about T-M's reputation. If someone wanted Clay's signature, they were by God going to get it.

She paused in the parking lot, shading her eyes against the late afternoon sun and cracking a grin as she watched Jax, Ope, and Chibs try to cram all of Gemma's Christmas decorations into the trunk of her Firebird.

"You break it you buy it," she called to them in warning. Jax flipped her the bird. "Love you too, cuz!" she said as she headed off for the clubhouse. Whatever dark spots lurked in the corners of her life, Jax and Gemma were the shining center. She didn't really know what she'd do without her cousins. Jax told her sometimes that she was the sister he'd never had, and she always had to fight the urge to hug the living daylights out of him for comments like that.

The clubhouse was always a sunset darker inside than the rest of the world, and she pushed her shades up into her hair, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows. Tom Petty sang softly from somewhere and was the only sound save for the soft _plunk _of water from the leaky sink. "Clay?" she called. She had learned on more than one occasion that it was a very bad idea to go knocking on dorm doors in the middle of the day. The things you might hear on the other side were better left alone.

"Clay?" she tried again, louder, stepping around the bar and pulling a mug down off the rack. Might as well have a beer if she was going to have to wait.

"What d'ya need, sweet thing?" someone asked from behind her.

She spun, one hand leaping to her throat at the surprise, her other curling around the handle of the mug, prepared to beat someone's brain in with it if necessary.

"Whoa," Tig held up both hands and took a step back from the bar. "You plan on using that?"

Her hand slipped down to cover her galloping heart, breath leaving in a sigh that was both relieved, and aggravated. "Jesus Christ, asshole," she muttered. "Do you just enjoy scaring the shit outta people?"

He grinned that wicked, aren't-I-so-cute smile that made her stomach sour, his blue eyes dancing. "No, just you. You're cute when you're terrified."

She shot him a dirty look as she went to the Bud tap and filled her mug. "Bite me," she hissed.

"Love to. Where you want it?"

"I'm serious, Tig," she set her beer down harder than intended and foam sloshed out over the rim and ran down to the bar. "Leave me the fuck alone."

It was his turn to scowl. "Why the hell are you still such a bitch? I'm sick and damn tired of trying to be nice to you-,"

"Nice to me?!" she exploded, surprising herself. "You think you've been nice to me? Are you shitting me?!"

She started to move away and his hand closed over her arm, clenching until it hurt, pinning her to the top of the bar. "I got a lot of respect for your cousin," he said quietly, voice dangerously rigid. "If it weren't for that-,"

"What?" she challenged, meeting his stare. "What would you have done? Huh? What would the big badass do about the little bitch who won't go away?"

"What the hell's going on?" Clay asked.

Tig released her instantly, putting a good ten feet between himself and the bar.

Maggie raked her fingers back through her hair, trying to simultaneously rake back the emotions she knew stood out plainly on her face. "Hey, Clay," she tried to still the tremor in her voice. "I needed you to sign off on these invoices."

He flicked a suspicious look between them. "Everything alright?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she offered a brittle smile. "Fine."

***

Clay and Gemma's house was decked out for a Martha Stuart Christmas. Garland and strands of crystal beads dripped off everything; the mantle, chandeliers, the banister along the front porch. There was a wreath on ever door, even the one that led out to the garage. And the tree belonged on the cover of a magazine; lit with at least two dozen strings of lights and covered with an eclectic mix of both family heirloom ornaments and fancy, shiny things Gemma had bought at a department store in Stockton.

"Looks like Santa fucking threw up in here, huh?" Jax asked as he offered Chibs a beer.

Chibs shrugged. He wasn't one to back the whole homemaking endeavor, but he had to admit that this was nice. It smelled liked gingerbread and though it was still sixty degrees outside, there was a fire going in the gas fireplace. "Thanks, kid," he said, taking the Budweiser.

All the guys were there, those with old ladies having brought them, the single ones stag because Gemma had enforced a firm no crow eaters law for the evening. "We don't celebrate the Lord's birthday with pussy," she'd said matter-of-factly. The house was packed shoulder to shoulder with bikers and their women and the symphony of voices covered the Sinatra Christmas album that someone had put on.

"Does your mum go all out for every holiday?" Chibs asked.

Jax shrugged, smiling as Luann approached the love seat where Opie and Donna were sitting, holding a sprig of mistletoe above their heads and demanding that they kiss. "She likes Thanksgiving too. Gets the whole 'family' together, you know?"

"Aye." But truthfully he didn't know. He couldn't remember a time when he'd actually had a family. He thought, just maybe, that if he played his cards right, the Sons of Anarchy could be family.

Jax's girlfriend slid in between them, wrapping her arms around Jax's middle and laying her head against his chest. "Hey," she cooed, sounding slightly drunk.

Chibs popped the younger man on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to it," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

"Ha. Shut up, man," Jax said, but grinned.

At the risk of entering the lioness den, Chibs headed for the kitchen on the off chance that Gemma might have some tea somewhere in her pantry. Bobby's wife Sarah was at the sink, mixing a fresh batch of egg nogg.

"I thought you were Jewish," he said.

She shrugged. "Bobby's motto is; never pass up a decent meal."

He could second that. The food had been amazing as promised.

"Jesus Christ," Gemma muttered, coming in with the cordless phone and hanging it up aggressively.

"What's wrong, hon?" Sarah asked.

The Queen sighed and massaged her temples. "That was Mitch from down at the Hairy Dog. He's got Maggie down there too drunk to get behind the wheel." She shook her head and scowled at nothing. "And here I've got a whole goddamned house full of people."

"You want me to go?" Sarah asked.

Gemma shook her head. "No. Bobby'll ask questions and I don't want the guys knowing about this…it'll embarrass the hell outta her." She looked at Chibs and sighed. "Oops." Then she snapped her fingers. "You," she pointed at him. "Can you go pick her up? She just lives a couple blocks from the bar and it would really save my ass tonight."

"Sure," Chibs set his beer on the counter. "I don't know if you want her on the back of a bike if she's tipsy…"

"Here," she tossed him the keys to her Firebird. "Don't wreck the thing, Scotty."

***

Even with Gemma's directions, he drove through the center of town twice before he finally located the tiny bar set in the middle of the main strip of businesses. Then he spent another ten minutes trying to find a parking spot that wouldn't put the Pontiac in too much jeopardy of door dings.

The Hairy Dog had old style swinging saloon doors inside the air lock, and was set up as a long, narrow hallway that he could tell opened up in the back for pool tables. Maggie sat alone, three empty stools on either side of her, but there was a group of guys down at the end with shaved heads who were eyeing her appreciatively. Chibs slid onto the stool on her right, cutting off the creeps' view of her, and leaned forward onto the bar to gauge her expression. She looked as cold and remote as a stone, the only sign of life the occasional blink. Her hands were wrapped around a glass tumbler of clear liquor, most likely gin, and there were two empties beside her. The bartender shot Chibs a curious look until he registered the cut. He nodded and moved down the bar to his other customers.

"Gemma sent me to get you," he said quietly, almost afraid to speak too loudly in case it triggered her temper. He didn't know why she was here, but she hadn't missed the party and got herself drunk as hell because she was happy.

He put a hand on her arm when she didn't respond. "Come on. Let me take you home, luv."

She shrugged away from him and downed the rest of her gin in a single gulp. "I'm not going with you," she said bluntly.

"Why not?"

"Because bikers and booze aren't a good combination for me," she said. Her voice cracked at the end. She sounded angry, hurt, afraid, or possible a combination of all three.

"I told you before that I wasn't going to hurt you," he pressed. "Let's get you out of here, alright?"

"No!" she was louder than she should have been, the alcohol dulling her senses.

"Maggie," his breath wanted to catch when he said her name. "I'm not leaving you here like this. Come on."

"I told you NO, asshole!" she hissed. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

"She said she doesn't wanna go with you," a man said behind them.

Chibs turned and saw one of the hairless crew standing with his arms folded over his beefy chest. The guy had a swastika tattoo on one of his bare biceps. "She doesn't like you, _foreigner_," he said threateningly.

"Oh, you're not gonna want to do that," Chibs said, turning back to Maggie and dismissing him. He had enough shit to deal with without some Aryan asshole getting involved.

"Really?" the guy pressed. "What you gonna do about it?"

Chibs sighed. He didn't need this, hadn't asked for this, but damn if this Maggie wasn't going to be the second death of him. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, ensuring that the rest of the guy's comrades were far enough away, then he stood and decked the asshole in the jaw, toppling him backward. "Time to go, luv. Now," he said. He grabbed Maggie around the waist and flung her over his shoulder before she could react.

"Put me down!" she kicked and struggled, trying to punch him in the ribs.

"Not until you calm down," he told her as he pushed through the swinging doors. His first priority would be getting them out of sight of the bar as quickly as possible before the skinheads caught up with them. Maggie continued to struggle as he turned right and headed down the sidewalk. He wanted to jog, but the flailing, screaming girl made that more than difficult.

He spotted the recessed doorway of a women's clothing boutique that was set a good eight feet back from the front windows of the shop and he slipped into it, covering them in shadow. He set Maggie down on her feet and she staggered, almost fell, and he hooked his arms under hers, hands at the small of her back to keep her from staggering backward.

She was panting, furious from being carried out like that, and kicked him in the shin. "What the hell? What's wrong with you?" she screeched.

"Shut up," he clamped a hand over her mouth. He heard voices outside on the sidewalk, the Aryans no doubt.

She bit his hand.

"Damnit!" he hissed. "What the hell is wrong with _you_?"

"You had no right to embarrass me like that." Her voice was shaking. "No right-,"

"Be quiet," he said. He leaned down low, pressing his cheek against hers so he could put his lips against her ear. "Those assholes are looking for us and unless you close that big mouth of yours, we're gonna be lynched. I don't care if you're embarrassed, I'm just supposed to bring you back alive. Understand?"

He pulled back and even in the shadows, he could see the shining whites of her eyes go wide. She nodded and stepped back, resting her palms against his chest to steady herself.

"Nords," she whispered. "White supremacist bastards."

"Yeah," he whispered back. "I gathered that."

The "Nords" as she'd called them, were milling around out on the sidewalk, talking heatedly about the foreigner who'd popped one of them. One passed right by the entrance to their hiding spot and Maggie grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pressing against him. The fronts of their legs touched. Her breasts were against his stomach and he wrestled with pulling her closer and pushing her back. But he remained still, waiting for the Nazis to go away and feeling her heartbeat thump through his body. She was warm and her hair smelled like smoke from the bar.

"Chibs?" she said softly, her voice pulling him back to the situation at present. "I think they're gone."

***

She didn't want to go home yet and he didn't really want to wrestle with her anymore. They sat on the curb, feet in the gutter in front of the Firebird, watching the easy flow of traffic pass back and forth beneath the street lamps. Chibs smoked and waited, knowing by her occasional sigh and shuffle of boots that she was trying to work something up that had been long buried but had been struggling to surface for weeks. The gin, the coldness of the night air, and his quiet company seemed to be helping her work whatever it was out of her system and he was willing to wait until she wanted to talk.

"My family is beyond straight-laced," she said at last.

He crushed out his cigarette and turned, watching the emotions write the story across her face.

"So when I was sixteen I of course fell madly in love with Flagstaff's version of James Dean," she continued with a ghost of a smile. "Jason was crazy and reckless. He had this red Trans Am, gold eagle on the hood and everything, and I just couldn't say no when he smiled at me the way he used to. My parents, of course, _hated _him. Said he was no good for me, said I needed someone headed the same direction I was."

"Which direction was that?" he prodded gently.

"College. Grad school. Or med school. Anyone besides the bad boy with the leather jacket and hot car." She ran a trembling hand through her hair. "He was my first. We had that whole Romeo and Juliet, die for each other, first love bullshit thing going on. He used to tell me that one night he'd just pick me up and we'd get the hell outta Flagstaff, go to LA or San Francisco. Anywhere but there."

She fell silent for a spell and he sat quietly. Patiently. He knew what that felt like, that kind of love that made you want to kill yourself sometimes because you just ached too badly when you looked at a person.

She pulled in a deep, shuddering breath and dashed at her eyes with the end of a sleeve. "He…died. I was in the car with him…I had the radio up and was singing along, some stupid Aerosmith song…and he didn't see the cement mixer until we were through the intersection. I don't know how I walked away from it…" she covered her mouth to try and hold in the sob that no doubt threatened.

He shouldn't have, had told himself a hundred times over in his mind that contact was forbidden, but he slid an arm around her and pulled her against his side. She went limp, sinking into him, one hand grabbing onto his cut for dear life and the tears came.

He didn't resist as her head slid in under his chin, didn't try to keep his lips from brushing against her hair as he whispered that he was sorry. She wasn't a sloppy crier, didn't wail and moan, but he felt the little wet droplets of her tears splash down onto his thigh. He held her and let her shake until she finally pulled everything back inside with one gulped breath.

She sat up, broke their contact, and he felt like the old wounds were reopened by their separation. He wanted to touch her, hold her, but he curled his hands over his knees and watched her wipe the streaks off her face.

"I spent two years walking around like a ghost," she said finally. "I was there physically, but…"

"You didn't care," he said.

She nodded. "Mom and Dad tried to help me, but they were glad Jason was gone and it showed. I waited until I was eighteen, then I lit outta there like a bat outta hell."

"And you came here."

"Gem was family so they couldn't try to say that I was somewhere unsafe. And Charming was new; fresh faces, fresh start. New job. No friends telling me how sorry they were that Jason was gone. I told myself that I would never love someone like that again because I couldn't stand to hurt that way a second time. But…" she sighed. "Then I met _him_."

Suddenly it all made sense to Chibs. Her jumpiness in the clubhouse that day, her actions at the fight, her explosion outside the school…there was one common denominator there. "Tig," he said and knew it was true when her eyes squeezed shut and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"I was eighteen and stupid," she sounded like she might cry again. "And my love for Jason hadn't gone away. Even though I didn't want to, I had to do something with it, I had to love someone. And he was older and cocky…he reminded me of Jason a little…and God, no one had ever touched me like that-," she shook her head. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear this."

"What happened?" he asked, anger for his sponsor flaring up in his gut unexpectedly. "What did he do to you?"

She held up her hands in a helpless pose. "Nothing. He is what he is; a womanizing, selfish, pig of a man-whore." She wiped her eyes again and seemed to turn some of her sadness to bitterness. "I just showed up at the wrong club party, you know? Finding your rebound guy facedown in some hooker's lap doesn't exactly do nice things to your ego."

"Bastard," he said. "He should _never _have hurt you like that."

"What?" she chuckled humorlessly, sounding half crazy. "It's part of the club – no one's faithful, none of them. Sweetbutts are part of the package, baby. Or haven't you noticed?"

He frowned. He'd enjoyed the women, of that there was no doubt, but this was different. Maggie was _real_, not some whore in a short skirt and a G-string. "_I_ wouldn't have that to you," he said. "You don't throw away somebody like you."

"How would you know?" she asked.

"Because I had someone like you!" he barked. He was suddenly furious when he turned to her, all the old hurt coming to a head under his calm façade.

She shrunk back, looking stunned.

"I had my own Maggie," he said, aware that his voice was too loud and not caring. "It nearly killed me when she died. So don't act so holier than thou, don't pretend you're the only one who's ever lost someone, cause you're not!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's alright," he waved her off and stowed his emotions back where they belonged. She was drunk and miserable and he shouldn't take things out on her.

"What…what was her name?" she asked.

"Maggie."

She pulled in a breath that rattled audibly. "Jesus, Chibs. I didn't mean…God, I'm sorry…"

"She was pregnant," he said quietly. "Just a few weeks and we hadn't been to a doctor yet because I couldn't afford one." He sighed. This was the part he always left out in his memories, the place he skimmed over. "Her father was part of this Glasgow street gang, bunch of muppets thought they were the second coming of the Kray Twins or something. Her pregnancy was ectopic…one of her tubes burst and she bled out internally. Her father blamed me, but I didn't know. I didn't know."

He felt her fingers touch his face, her thumb skimming across his scar. "Is that when…?"

"Yeah," he said. "That was when."

Something brushed across his leg and he realized that she'd come around in front of him, on her knees with her hands on his thighs. Before he could stop her she had her hands on his chest and her mouth on his. She was drunk and she didn't know what she was doing, but she moved her lips boldly against his, darting her tongue out to press for entrance. She climbed up into his lap and hooked her legs over his, hands circling behind his neck.

His brain short-circuited. She was warm and tasted like gin and all the right parts of her body were rubbing against him. He tangled a hand in her dark blond hair and crushed her mouth down onto his, slanting his lips over hers and taking control of the kiss. His free hand found its way under the hem of her sweater and across the embroidered cup of her bra. He was hard in an instant and she ground her hips against him, telling him that she was ready and willing. Her back arched as he pushed aside her bra and his hand closed over her bare breast.

"Jesus," she whispered when he broke their kiss and trailed his lips down her throat.

_Jesus. As in Christ. As in Christmas. As in the Christmas party he'd left at Gemma's to come pick her up. Gemma's cousin._

"Shit," he groaned. He pulled his hand away and let go of her hair.

"What?" she dug her nails through his shirt. "What? Why are you stopping? Please don't," she pleaded, kissing him lightly, nipping his bottom lip.

"No, luv," he sighed and gently pushed her back. "We can't."

"Why not?" she sounded desperate. She cupped him through his jeans and he grabbed her wrist, moving her hand away with more force than necessary.

"Stop," he told her firmly. "You're drunk and you're the Queen's cousin, darlin'. This is bad…for both of us."

She slid off of him and back to the curb. "It wouldn't be bad," she tried one last time. "In fact, it would be _very _good."

"I'm sure," he said.

They sat in silence, both trying to regulate their breathing, Chibs trying to think of anything that would get rid of his erection.

"Can I ask you something?" she finally broke the silence.

"Aye."

"If things were different…if it wasn't for Gemma and the club…would you have…?"

"On the desk that day I found you listening to AC/DC."

She chuckled, the first time in hours. "God, I _am_ drunk," she said.

"Come on," he said tiredly, feeling it was probably safe to stand. "I'll take you home."

**TBC**


	8. The Inevitable

**AN: If you haven't seen "Smite" yet, I won't spoil it for you. But let's just say that the end had me yelling at the TV. I'm none too pleased with this week's cliffhanger.**

**Anyway, I'm shaky with this chapter. I feel like I'm slowly losing control of the story and am afraid I might have Chibs a little OOC. Of course, I figure he probably has some trauma to get over before he becomes as nonchalant as he appears on the show. I dunno…let me know if it starts to suck.**

**Chapter 8: The Inevitable**

**1994**

She fell asleep before they reached her building, slumped against the window, each shallow breath misting the glass. Chibs rode the brakes easy as he pulled up in front of the apartment complex, coasting Gemma's Firebird to a slow stand-still so as not to wake her. When he killed the engine, the world became considerably quieter. He could hear her breathe…in and out, in and out…and the sound was comforting. He hadn't listened to a woman sleep in a long, long time.

She didn't stir when he pulled her carefully out of the car and settled her in a fireman's carry. Her head settled against his chest, fingers closing reflexively around a handful of his sweatshirt. Damn. She was going to be his undoing.

Gemma had said she lived up on the third floor, apartment 309, and he realized that her keys must be somewhere in her purse when he reached the door. He was forced to set her down, very slowly, and prop her against the wall so he could rifle through the black leather bag. The thing was a mess; a bunch of take-out receipts and candy wrappers making the search difficult.

He heard a door open behind him and turned to see a man coming out of the apartment across the hall. The tenant was in a bathrobe, holding a mutty looking dog on a leash, and he shot a disturbed look at Chibs. _Shit _he thought to himself. _Unconscious girl on the floor, me going through her purse. Not what it looks like, pal._

"What are you lookin' at?" he asked roughly, embarrassed.

The guy caught a glimpse of his face and hurried his dog down the hall.

"Nice neighbors you got, Maggie," he muttered as he finally fished her keys out. "Really concerned about your safety at the hands of the Scottish mad man."

An inventory of the bank of light switches inside the door proved fruitless so he just carried her through the dark apartment, praying he didn't trip and throw her through a glass coffee table or something. It was a one bedroom unit, and he did manage to turn on a lamp one handed.

She had a double bed tucked away in the corner of the little room, covered with an ivory comforter and rose pillows. _What a girl _he thought as he laid her gently on top of it. He didn't really want to make assumptions and turn down the bed, so he pulled up the quilt that was folded at the end, covering her up and making sure her head was properly supported.

She looked peaceful, dreamy even, not at all drunk and horny like she'd been just a few minutes earlier. He couldn't help himself; he brushed her hair off her forehead, fingers lingering across her skin. God it was smooth, and oh so familiar…

He thanked the heavens that she was asleep. Otherwise, he might have done something he regretted.

***

Gemma stood in the open doorway when he returned, no doubt recognizing her car's engine come down the street. The drive was empty, all the party goers having dispersed, and the Queen had her arms folded in a stance that suggested he approach with caution.

"Took you awhile," she said without preamble as he reached the top porch step.

"She was…less than cooperative," he said with a wince.

Gemma pursed her lips and let her eyes wander over him slowly, carefully. "Thanks," she said after a moment. She extended a hand for her keys. "She's my cousin you know."

"Yes ma'am," he set the keys in her palm quickly, almost afraid she might sink her claws into him.

"And she's only twenty two."

"Yes ma'am."

Then, to his surprise, she smiled. It was a thin, less than enthusiastic expression, but it was still a smile. "Of course," her smile widened a bit. "She's done worse in the past."

He didn't know what to think. Had the Queen just given him the green light?

"Thanks again," she said, turning and dismissing him.

As he walked back to his bike, he realized that he hadn't had a flashback at all that day. He didn't know what, but he figured that it had to mean something.

***

Ernest Darby had nothing but peach fuzz left on the very top of his head. Clay figured that in another nine years or so, the Nord leader would be practically bald. "We've got a problem here, Clay."

"Really?" Clay leaned back in the booth and folded his hands behind his head. Darby, like a dumbass, had come alone, and he had Tig and Bobby in the booth behind them. "You didn't just want to chat about the weather, Sunday's game-,"

"This ain't funny," Darby growled. "One of your guys jumped Carter at the Dog last night. Nearly broke his fucking jaw."

Clay made a show of rolling his eyes and sighing. "It's what, two days til Christmas? All my guys were at my house last night. They certainly weren't hanging out with your lot."

"Then how do you explain some _foreign _bastard in a cut fighting my guy over some bitch?"

Over Darby's shoulder, Clay saw Bobby turn around and mouth "Scotty". "What the hell you mean, _foreign_?" Clay played dumb.

Darby leaned forward across the table, dropping his voice as a waitress walked past. "Your crew has stepped on my trade every step of the goddamn way, but I won't tolerate thins kinda shit."

"I got no idea what you're talking about." Clay let his fake smile disappear. "But if I did, I'd tell you to watch yourself. You won't threaten SAMCRO again."

***

Maggie closed the blinds as she went to the coffee maker for a refill. Damn sunlight. Why was it so bright in California?

"Wow, you look like shit," Jax said from the doorway.

She turned to give him the finger and her vision swam for a moment, blurring him into two smiling blonds in flannel. "Fuck you, cuz," she opted for saying it instead. She felt like shit too. She hadn't been that drunk in a while and it felt like someone had rolled a Peterbilt over her skull, then backed over it again.

She sat down hard and took a sip of coffee, grimacing when it still managed to taste like gin.

"You weren't at the party last night," he said, sounding concerned as he flopped into the chair across from her.

She shrugged. "Just wasn't feeling the biker love last night."

"Come on, Mags, this was Mom's big Christmas shin dig. And you weren't there helping her? What's going on with you?"

"You're very nosy, Jackson," she said with a frown. She set the coffee down; not like it was helping anyway.

He gave her a level look, not put off by her accusation. "You can talk to me, you know," he said softly.

"What do you want me to say, Jax? I-," Chibs stepped through the open door, his work shirt open over a wifebeater, dark shades pushed up into his hair, and even hung over, her heart rate spiked involuntarily.

"Jackie-boy, Clay wants you."

Maggie smoothed a hand over her still-damp ponytail, wishing she'd bothered with make-up. The previous night's events were a little blurred, but she distinctly remembered trying to shove her tongue down the Scotsman's throat. She was at once embarrassed, and almost hopeful that it might prove to be a repeat incident. She hadn't imagined the comforting warmth of his arm when he'd held her, and she hadn't imagined his arousal. He was playing the good guy, trying to push her away, and that made him all the more desirable. For the first time in four years, she wasn't bitter about what Tig had done to her. And that had to mean something, didn't it?

"What's he want?" Jax grumbled, not taking his eyes off her. He was worried, like a good cousin should be, and not about to let her forget it.

"Dunno," Chibs said. "I'm just the prospect after all."

Jax rose and gave Maggie one last glance before he trudged out. And then it was just the two of them.

Maggie felt her tongue go dry, suddenly anxious, and silence filled the office. Chibs finally headed back out the door and she rapped her nails against the desk to snag his attention. "Hey, hold on a sec."

He arched a single brow at her but said nothing.

"I…wanted to apologize for last night," was all she could think to say. "I made a complete ass out of myself and then you had to take me home…I'm sorry."

"Why do you do that?"

She frowned. "Do what?"

He stepped closer to the desk. "You're always apologizing, for what you say or how you act. I certainly don't deserve an apology, so quit doing it. It makes me feel guilty."

She felt heat creep into her cheeks. "You? Guilty? I'm the one who tried to fuck you on the sidewalk."

"Yeah, and I woulda let you too if circumstances were different," his voice was stern but he smiled at the end. "You better be careful who you grab out there on the street, luv. Others might not have my self-control."

She knew he was teasing, but she shook her head anyway. "Damn, I'm an idiot."

"Not an idiot, just lonely," he assured. "It happens to the worst of us."

"How do you deal with it?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged. "Strip club, hookers, you know, the usual."

"I'm serious."

He sighed.

"Chibs, am I crazy, or is there something…" she waved between the two of them with a finger, eyebrows raised in question.

He sighed again, heavier, and sank into the chair that Jax had vacated. "What would an answer gain you, darlin'? You know that you're off limits. You know it would get me kicked out on my ass."

"Yeah, but a girl can dream, huh?"

"I'm not much of a dream," he said, rising.

Jax poked his head back through the door. "Both of you need to come to the clubhouse."

***

"Please, for the love of God, tell me there's a good reason behind this," Clay said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Chibs sat down at the foot of the big redwood table, staring at the reaper carved into its center, scrambling for an answer that wasn't too far from the truth. Everyone was at the table; Otto, Bobby, Tig, Piney, Jax and Opie. Kyle had an extra chair pulled up beside him, supporting his cast. He could feel their eyes boring into him, wondering why a club beef had been started with Charming's Aryan brotherhood.

"Sometime today, Scotty," Clay said.

He didn't want to out Maggie, not if he could help it, but lying here didn't seem to be a good idea. "At the party, Gemma asked me if I could go down to the Hairy Dog and pick up Maggie," he said at last, promising to try and make it up to the girl.

"Come to think of it, she wasn't at the party," Piney mused. "Why was she at the Dog?"

"She's got her own car," Tig said, voice loaded with venom.

Chibs snapped his gaze up to the Sgt at Arms, suddenly furious. If he could have reached across the table, he would have decked the asshole again. Here he was the reason she'd been intoxicated in the first place and he was going to degrade the girl.

"She couldn't drive," he bit out.

"What?" Jax frowned. "She was drunk?"

"Aye."

"Why the hell did Gemma send you?" Tig asked.

"Not important," Clay waved him to silence. "The issue is, you punched a fucking Nord and now those Nazi pricks are all up in arms about it." He aimed the end of his smoldering cigar at Chibs. "And I don't like it when prospects make me look bad. Especially when I don't know about it _before_ I talk to Darby."

"We've all had run-ins with the Nords," Otto reminded. "It's not like the bastards don't deserve it."

Kyle chuckled. "Hell, let's just turn him loose on 'em and get rid of our racist problem for good. Let him smash some heads, man."

The rest of the men at the table shook their heads collectively and sighed.

"I didn't mean to start anything," Chibs said. "The guy was watching Maggie, told me to fuck off or some such. I was just trying to get the girl out in one piece."

***

Maggie sat on the edge of the pool table, worrying a ragged nail between her teeth. The guys were pissed about the Nord thing, pissed at Chibs, and it was her fault. Why was everything always her fault?

The double doors to the chapel opened and she hopped off her perch. Bobby was the first one out and he gave her this hooded look that she knew to be calculating. Tig glared at her. Otto was passive as always. And then Clay came out.

"Clay, look, it was totally my fault," she said in a rush. "He was just looking out for me cause I was too stupid not to keep my ass away from the Dog…"

"Calm down, kiddo," he squeezed her shoulder and offered a smile. "Just next time, get drunk at home, alright?"

She nodded, still not truly relieved. "I don't wanna get Chibs in trouble." She caught Tig's sneer from the corner of her eye.

The President looked over his shoulder as the Scotsman exited the chapel. "I wouldn't worry about 'trouble', sweetheart. Our foreign friend has a new assignment, if you will."

Jax grinned and popped a sullen Chibs on the shoulder. "He's got a week to come up with some way to fuck with the Nords," he said excitedly.

"That doesn't involve you," Clay added, giving her a stern look. "Keep your little ass outta trouble."

***

The sun had this brilliant way of going down in California. About five fifteen it looked like someone had struck a match and touched it to the edge of the horizon, turning the paper sky a brilliant red and crisping the trees black in contrast. It was beautiful, and something rarely seen in the soggy, green expanses of home.

But even when he enjoyed evenings like this, Chibs had this hollow, empty pit at the bottom of his stomach like he missed Scotland even though it had been nothing but pain for him. At least, he felt that way most of the time. Tonight, however, he was watching Maggie through the open blinds of the office windows and wondering why the hell he hadn't jumped the pond sooner.

The activity in the parking lot was dwindling as the sunlight faded. The big roll top doors on the garage bays had been pulled shut and most of the mechanics who weren't Sons or hangarounds had cleared out.

He was elbow deep in soapy water, gliding a sponge across the fuel tank of Bobby's bike, and somehow not able to pay a bit of attention to the task at hand. After the first hour, Tig had deemed him capable of washing their rides and left him to it, informing him that any soap spots would result in a serious ass kicking.

He had washed and rinsed, waxed and polished, and run through a mental laundry list of reasons that he couldn't sleep with Gemma's cousin. She was SAMCRO family and he was just a prospect, she was related to Jax who he had developed quite an uncle-like fondness for, and most of all, she was damaged. She was not a whore but she'd been made to feel like one, and that was dangerous. She knew what loss felt like, how hard it was to lose someone you weren't done loving, and that shared knowledge would only serve as glue for them. He would touch her and she would melt. Her skin would become the old Maggie's in his mind and his heart would beat so fast that it would make her voice sound like the one he used to know. They would get tangled and there would be no way to undo the knots without one or both of them getting cut in the process.

But he watched her file away receipts in the drawers and let the soap bubbles evaporate on Bobby's bike.

He hadn't seen it at first, but she really was beautiful. Strong, but pretty in a way that was completely natural and easy. When he'd walked into the office earlier he hadn't been prepared for the sudden overwhelming need to touch her again. Her skin had been so smooth, so solid under his hand. Not a dream. Not a memory. A real living, breathing girl. A new Maggie, a different Maggie, but maybe different was good. Maybe he needed different.

_It wouldn't be bad _he heard her words inside his head. _In fact, it would be _very _good._

He was so convinced that he was keeping her safe by staying away from her, but what if…

"Fuck it," he muttered, flinging the sponge back into the bucket. The light went out in the office, she was done for the night, and he hastened his step as he crossed the parking lot. He was being stupid to deny himself. She wanted him. And he wanted her.

She stepped out, turning to pull the door shut behind her, and jumped when he put his hand on her arm. "Jesus," she muttered when she saw that it was him. "You scared-,"

He leaned around her and opened the door, pushing her roughly back through it and then kicking it shut.

"Chibs-,"

He kissed her, found her lips in the dark and pulled them between his own. His hands were on her waist and he walked her backward until her ass hit the desk. God, she tasted good. He leaned against her, needing to feel the swells and curves of her body against him, wanting her to realize how badly he wanted her.

He forced himself to pull away and their lips came apart with a wet smack. She was breathing in ragged gasps, just like him, their heaving chests pushing back and forth against one another. "I…need…to know," he whispered. "How bad will this hurt you if it doesn't work?"

He felt her palms against his chest before she slid her hands lower, down across his belly and hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. "I don't care," she said, kissing the side of his neck.

"Yes you do," he pressed, hating that he couldn't just push her back onto the desk and drive into her.

Her lips slid lower, ghosting over his clavicle, and her tongue pressed against his flesh, gently sucking with just enough pressure to leave a mark. She slid a hand inside his jeans and he groaned.

"Christ, Maggie." And that did it. Saying her name, feeling the old, familiar way it rolled off his tongue sent him over the edge.

He snatched her up off her feet and she squealed as he laid her back over the desk. Pens and paper clips and invoices were knocked aside and clattered down onto the tile as he climbed over her. He kissed her like a starving man, tasted and took and pushed her lips apart so he could feel her tongue against his. She arched into him, moving her mouth with his, mimicking the movements that were to come below the waist. Her hands slid around his neck, giving his hands access to slide beneath her t-shirt.

Her bra was lacey and feminine and the feel of the silky fabric under his fingers had him hard and desperate. But he wanted it off. He was done with suggestion and hint. He wanted to touch and taste all of her. Now.

"Why the fuck won't this come off?" he hissed, breaking their kiss as he tried to work the mechanics of the undergarment.

"Front closure," she whispered, moving his hands aside to undo it herself.

A bike fired up outside, loud as thunder, and they both froze.

"We have to get out of here," she pushed on his chest. "Get up."

"Hell no," he felt suddenly panicked. "I didn't wait this long-,"

"Your room," she said impatiently, voice husky.

"What?" All his blood had rushed to his _other _head and logic was out of reach at the moment. It pissed him off.

"Your dorm room, in the clubhouse," she said. "We should go there. Now."

"Oh."

***

Her breath hitched when he slid inside her and he felt her lips on his neck as she buried her face against him. She was impossibly tight, but she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. She was wet and hot and felt so damn good he nearly came at the beginning.

She moved with him, desperately, furiously, just as anxious for release. Her nails scraped at his shoulders. Her back arched off the mattress.

Neither spoke, neither screamed the other's name, but when the end came and the world erupted into a million stars, Chibs knew that his fate had been sealed. In the quiet aftermath, propped on an elbow, watching the wonder dance across her face, he realized that it had been inevitable. He always had, and probably always would be helpless to the charms of a girl named Maggie.

**TBC**


	9. In Between

**AN: This is one of those unavoidable filler chapters that are necessary for bridging events but aren't that exciting. Sorry. Will do better next time. Thanks dearly to those of you who review, and I assume everyone adding this story to his/her alert list likes it. I hope so anyway.**

**Chapter 9: In Between **

**1994**

In the light of the mid-day sun, the soap spots on Bobby's bike were painfully obvious. There might even be permanent paint damage since he'd been using a fairly harsh cleaner. Chibs swiped a wet rag across the fuel tank in the vain hope that no one would notice his shitty wash job.

He saw Jax's sneakers on the other side of the Fat Boy before he heard the chuckle. "Dude, that is _some _hickey. Where the hell did you go last night?"

_Shit. I was fucking your cousin last night. Shit shit shit shit…_

"You go down to the Elevator Room?"

"Aye," he lied at the mention of the local strip club. He stood and tried to hide his worry as Jax grinned hugely.

"Damn. I heard the Elevator girls were friendly, but Jesus! You got the royal treatment, bro."

Bro. That was the first time any of the Sons had used the common biker moniker of "brother" when referring to him. It reminded him why he was washing bikes and mopping floors. And why no one could find out about Maggie.

He decided that changing the subject would be a good start. "Let me ask you somethin', Jackie-boy."

"Shoot."

"How much do you know about these fellas I'm supposed to be sending a message to?"

"The Nords?" Jax made a face. "Bunch of wannabe assholes. _Real _skinheads are against drugs, but Darby and his losers have been trying to start up a meth trade. They pick and choose which parts of the white code to follow. Arrogant pieces of shit if you ask me."

"Aye," Chibs nodded. "The fella I ran into was quite the charmer."

Jax grinned. "You got any ideas yet?"

If he were still in Ireland, "fucking with someone" would involve a fair amount of plastic explosive. But he wasn't sure what the appropriate angle was here. "Dunno. What's Clay expect?"

The kid shrugged. "Nothing too crazy, just a heads up, let him know that SAMCRO still runs the town. And funny's always a plus. You know," he smiled. "We should talk to Mags, she loves a good practical joke."

"You talk to her about club business?" he asked, trying to sound only mildly interested. They had decided to keep whatever had been started a secret even though he had a feeling it would come back to bite both of them in the ass. But, it was better than Jax knowing. He didn't know how he was going to explain things when the cat finally clawed its way out of the bag.

"Well, not officially," Jax winked. "But she knows a thing or two."

***

An unfamiliar emotion rolled over Maggie as she looked up to see Jax and Chibs come in the office. Snippets of the previous night's events bombarded her as a series of third person images, as if she were an outsider looking in on the two of them. She could name the slow simmer that started up in her belly for what it was; a lingering desire brought on by memory and anticipation of his hands and mouth. But there was this sudden flooding of warmth that she hadn't felt in a long time and it was foreign to her at the moment.

"Hey, boys," she drawled, trying to keep her voice the perfect mix of friendly but just friendly, nothing more.

Chibs winked at her, so quick and so smooth Jax didn't notice, and she restrained a smile, the unnamed sensation swelling up inside her.

"We need to pick your brain," Jax said, plopping gracelessly into the chair across from the desk.

"About…?"

"What to do to Darby and his crew."

"Ah." She pulled the phone out of its cradle and left it sitting on the desk, unable to ring. "Be a peach and close the door," she told Chibs, wanting to laugh at his expression. The whole secret lover thing was going to be fun.

Once the door was shut and they were safe from prying ears, she leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk eagerly. She noticed that her Lakers mug of writing utensils was still on its side and her heart raced at the knowledge of how it had been overturned. "Okay, so I've been thinking about this."

"Thinking?" Jax shook his head. "You know, for someone not into this MC shit, you sure do put a lot of thought into it."

"Do you want my help or not?" she asked.

He grinned. "Yes, please."

She couldn't help but mirror his expression. He just looked too cute. "Alright. Keith Byers, that football dick you and Ope knocked around, his old man's a Nord, right?"

Jax nodded slowly. "Yeah. So?"

"So…if you guys can come up with a viable alibi…"

"Oh, I think I know where you're going with this," Chibs said with a small smile. "How much of an alibi?"

"Those Aryan pricks would have to see you guys," she shrugged.

"There's an amateur match at Dawson's next Friday," Chibs said.

"Nords are in Pope a lot, maybe they'd show," Jax offered.

"We _make _'em show," Chibs said. "We challenge them, offer payback for me popping their guy. Their best in the ring against our best."

"What? You fight one of 'em? In a match?" Jax asked.

Chibs nodded.

A little ripple of fear went through Maggie. She shook her head. "No, that's too risky," she said emphatically. "Going up against Tig here at home is one thing-," She stopped when she realized that Jax was giving her a curious look.

"It'd be alright, darlin'," Chibs assured. "I've fought nastier cats than that."

_Yeah, but I wasn't around to protest then _she thought with a frown. "You could get hurt," she tried to keep her voice calm.

"Calm down, Mags," Jax waved away her concern. "The guy's a beast in the ring. You saw him."

"Yeah but…" she trailed off when she registered Chibs' raised eyebrows. She was starting to act suspicious and she knew it, but the thought of him going up against a bloodthirsty racist who hated foreigners made her more than nervous. "Whatever," she threw up her hands. "Go beat some heads if you want."

***

Chibs sat on top of one of the picnic tables under the clubhouse overhang, working on the last few millimeters of his cigarette and waiting for Clay's decision. He and Jax had detailed their plan for Nord fucking and now watched the President mull it over internally, puffing on his cigar and staring aimlessly out into the parking lot.

"I like it," he said at last with a facial shrug. "But only if the kids," he pointed at Jax and Opie ",can keep their asses from getting caught."

Jax rapped the table with an open palm twice, pleased. "We won't fuck up, promise," he swore.

"Pretty smart," Bobby acknowledged. "It'll keep those assholes busy with the county; keep 'em outta our hair and put the brakes on the crank trade."

"What if they don't take the bait?" Tig asked, choosing to play devil's advocate.

"You saw how pissed Darby was," Clay said. "Naw, they'll be in on this."

"I'll call Phil over at Dawson's, make sure he's got a slot we can reserve," Otto said.

"That reminds me," Clay snapped his fingers. "McKeevy's back in town Thursday. He made contact with you?" he asked Chibs.

The Scot shook his head, mildly surprised. "No."

Clay frowned. "I want him picked up and dealt with before Friday. I don't want us trying to do gun business the night of the fight."

"Aye."

***

"How's it goin', girl?" Gemma asked, knocking lightly on the open door as she stepped into the office.

Maggie looked up from her absent-minded doodling in the margins of the ledger, offering a smile for her cousin. "Friggin' awesome," she replied, only half sarcastic.

Gemma pushed her aviator shades up into her dark hair and gave her a look that was part curious, part concerned. "Alright," she crossed her arms. "What did you do? Or, should I say, _who _did you do?"

"What?" Maggie held up her palms defensively. "Why do you always assume I've been up to no good?"

"For one," Gemma shook her head and settled into the chair across from the desk, digging a pack of Newports and a lighter from her purse. "You're a Lawson, which means up to no good is a part of your goddamned DNA. And second," she lit up and took the first drag, forcing it back out with a grin. "You've got that freshly laid look to ya."

"You've got a dirty mind, cuz."

"So do you."

Maggie sighed. Jax may have been Gemma's biological offspring, but he certainly hadn't inherited her powers of perception. Hiding things from him was easy. From her cousin, not so much.

"I picked up a turkey at the store today," Gemma changed the subject smoothly, crossing her legs and bouncing one booted foot through the air. "It's huge. Big-ass bird. You still coming Christmas day?"

The big MC Christmas bash was always too much for Maggie, but she enjoyed the quiet day-of dinner that was strictly for blood relatives. "You know I can't say no to your cooking."

The biker Queen arched a single, suggestive brow. "Should I set an extra place for your plus one?"

"No!" Maggie couldn't help the blush that flooded her cheeks. "I'm not gonna tell you, Gem, so knock it off!" She chuckled nervously. "Jesus, you just push push push. Man. I can have sex if I want to."

"Mags?"

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling."

"I know," Maggie sighed and slumped onto the desk, her forehead in her palm.

"You like this guy?" Gemma asked casually.

"Yeah," she glanced sideways up at her cousin, trying to read her neutral expression. "I really do, Gem. And maybe I'm just being stupid again, but…"

"It's not Tig, is it?"

"God no."

Gemma shrugged. "Go for it then."

Maggie was a little shocked. "You're not gonna give me the run down on being careful with my heart and all that bullshit?"

Gemma leaned forward, expression earnest. "When I came in here a minute ago, you were smiling to yourself like a kid in a candy store. You're happy, Mags."

Happy. She suddenly put a name to that elusive emotion that had been tickling her insides all day. Happy. She smiled.

***

"The burgundy Buick, right?" Maggie asked, flicking through the hanging jumble of keys on the corkboard above the light switches.

"It's _candy apple red_," the frumpy little woman on the other side of the desk corrected snidely.

Maggie rolled her eyes while her back was still turned. It was fifteen minutes until quitting time and she still couldn't find the keys to Mrs. Jensen's _candy apple red _Century. The stocky brunette was built like a refrigerator and always seemed determined to take out her physical frustrations on any other woman to cross her path. She was one of Maggie's least favorite patrons and now she'd gone and misplaced the woman's keys.

"Just a sec," she forced a smile before she shouldered open the door that led out into the garage. Bobby was in the first bay, smoking and leaning back against the Camry that he was most likely supposed to be working on. "Hey, Bobby, you seen the keys to Jensen's Buick? I can't find them in here."

"Tig's got 'em," he said on an exhale.

She sighed. "Is he done with it?"

"I think so. You want him to bring 'em in?"

She recalled the last time Tig had been within fifteen feet of Mrs. Jensen and shook her head. His comment about the woman's frightening resemblance to the Penguin from the original Batman movie had been funny, but not worth the threatened lawsuit. "No," she said quickly, stepping out into the bay. "I'll go get them. Where is he?"

Bobby nodded out toward the parking lot and she spotted the Sgt at Arms propped up against the side of the clubhouse, watching Chibs put the finishing touches on the line of bikes that now glittered in the afternoon sun.

"Fabulous," she muttered to herself. Just what she wanted; two men she'd slept with both within arm's reach. This wouldn't be awkward at all.

"Tig!" she called before she reached him, anxious to get the exchange over with. "I need the keys to the Buick."

His blue eyes snapped up at her approach and his look was loaded. With what, she didn't know – most likely something dirty she would rather stay inside his twisted mind. "The Penguin here?" he asked.

"Yeah. Bobby said you had the keys," she extended her hand.

He offered her a grin instead. "Got anything you want spit-shined? The prospect's on major cleaning duty since he slacked off on the bikes last night."

She sighed and snuck a glance at Chibs over her shoulder. She couldn't look at him without wanting to smile like an idiot, so she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek as she watched his hands ghost a rag over the seat of Clay's Harley. Those hands had done some magical things last night…

"What? You still hung-over or something?" Tig asked, snapping her out of her reveries.

She startled a bit and then glared at him, pissed that he could make her so jumpy. "You should try being nice every once in a while," she said. "Just 'cause he's a prospect doesn't mean he's your play thing."

"Why do you care?" he narrowed his eyes.

"'Cause I'm nice," she said with a fake smile, wiggling her fingers. "Keys, please."

He set the keys in her palm but didn't let go of them right away. "You're a lot of things, sweetheart, but nice ain't one of them," he said quietly, a wicked smile tweaking his lips. "Why do you think you picked me, huh?"

She scowled as she snatched the keys away. "I didn't pick you," she snarled as she turned.

"Keep telling yourself that," he called after her.

Chibs tossed her a quick look over the rims of his shades as she passed and she smiled thinly for him. _I'm alright_. She hoped that she was.

***

It had been better at her place. Part of it had been the silky soft sheets and the feather topper over the mattress, but most of it had been the empty apartment. It had been just them, no club full of "brothers" on the other side of a thin wall. He could take his time with her, devote appropriate attention to each and every inch of her body. The desperate, strangling need was still there, but he could control it better, reign it in with the knowledge that this was just one of many nights.

Maggie rolled over and propped herself up on an elbow in between rounds. Her hair was mussed and her makeup was smudged and she had never looked more beautiful to him, smiling as she skimmed her fingertips down his bare chest. He didn't really understand it, but there was an innocence about her smile, like she was shy and pleasantly surprised.

"You don't have any tats," she said softly, drawing an aimless spiral across his skin.

"Not yet anyway," he said. "I don't want a whole mess of them, just something important."

"Like…?"

"Money," he said with a grin and she poked him.

"_So _not romantic," she chastised. She snuggled closer, pressing the whole length of her body to him, coming dangerously close to cuddling. "T-M's closed tomorrow," she said on a sigh. "We don't have to go to work since it's Christmas Eve."

"Is that some sort of invitation?" he asked, trying to decide if it was too soon to just fold his arms around her and hold her.

"It means," she paused and he felt her chin against his chest. "That I'm asking you to spend the night."

He looked down into her hopeful hazel eyes, so similar to the ones he'd known years ago, and couldn't find it in him to say no. "Aye. I'll stay."

"The fight scares me," she said quietly. "I'm sure you can take care of yourself, but the Nords…they won't fight fair, Chibs. I don't want you getting hurt because of my stupid mistake."

"I won't get hurt," he assured. "I've been doing this a long time, luv."

"Well, just in case," she slid upward along him, drawing up to eye level on the pillow. "You'd better have your way with me now." She grinned and kissed him with slow, intense precision. Round three was on.

**TBC**


	10. The Secret Slips Out

**AN: My computer crashed last week and I just got it back, so sorry about the big delay. I was going to make this chap very long, but decided just to go ahead and post what I had instead of waiting 'til the weekend. Hopefully I'll have the next chap up soon. **

**As always, thanks to my wonderful reviewers – I do this stuff for you guys. **

**Chapter 10: The Secret Slips Out**

**1994**

The soap in Maggie's bathroom seemed to be infused with some sort of grainy substance that resembled oatmeal. And if he wasn't mistaken, there were coffee beans in there too. He had taken a moment while the water heated up to glance around the little room, take in the grape leaf stencil running under the chair rail, the little scented candles nestled in pools of crystal river rock on the faux marble counter top, but the soap sealed it. Under all that brash exterior and love for European rock, Maggie was one hundred percent female. Right down to the rose hand towels.

Chibs stepped into the shower, under the scalding jets of the detachable head, and let the hot water soothe the soreness in his limbs. Christmas Eve had turned to Christmas day and he'd only pulled himself out of her bed long enough to eat. His body was deliciously wasted and the nagging little voice in the back of his mind couldn't seem to talk him out of leaving. Tig probably had a list of chores as long as his arm waiting and the rest of the guys had no doubt started talking. Where could a prospect Scotsman disappear to for so long?

And if he really thought about it, what was he doing? Where did he think this could be heading? If he was smart, he would have just sought out one of the "sweetbutts" as the guys called him; gotten off and gotten over it.

He ducked his head under the water and left his own questions unanswered.

***

Maggie listened to the pounding of water against fiberglass through the thin wall of her apartment and smiled to herself. Sex was taking on a whole new meaning with Chibs because there was more to it. More to _him_. Between trips to heaven there had been conversations; little ones at first, tentative steps towards something more than the physical, but they had become longer over the past two days. He was funny in this mellow sort of way that he called Scottish but she attributed to a strength to overcome the shit life had pitched at him over the years. She told him about her family, about the life she'd left behind in Flagstaff. And when he talked about the landscape of his home with that rough, rolling voice of his it made her want to melt.

She checked her watch, hating that it was already time to go to Gemma's for Christmas dinner. She knew Chibs wouldn't wait around for her to come back and the thought of returning to an empty apartment was depressing.

She sat down at the little pull-out stool in front of her dressing table, checking that her hair and makeup were to her liking. Her eye caught the jewelry box that was pushed up flush against the mirror and she cracked open the lid, sending up a little dust storm. She wasn't one for glitz and glam. She rarely even wore earrings.

The top velvet-lined tray was devoted to her costume pieces; the sterling stuff she'd bought at yard sales and department stores. Most of it was tarnished, the chains of the necklaces all tangled together into one big knot she had no hope of sorting out. She popped out the tray and revealed the secret stash beneath, the place where she kept the real stuff.

She had two pieces she would never part with. One was a ruby ring her grandmother on her father's side had passed down. The stone was flanked by tiny diamonds and set on a yellow gold band. It wasn't something she ever wore, but it was sentimentally priceless. She nudged the ring aside and let her fingers close around what she'd been searching for; a big silver cross on a long chain. She pulled it out of the box, wrapped the length of chain around her wrist so as not scratch the dresser, and studied it in the sunlight.

It had been Jason's. She could remember the cold feel of it against her skin their very first time; the touch of silver against her belly as Jason slid down her body. She had taken it in her hand countless evenings when they were laid back against the hood of his Trans Am, toying with the pendant while they talked about their future. The future they'd never been able to have.

He'd been wearing it the night of the accident and the cops had sealed it up in a little manila envelope labeled "personal effects". She had worn it every day since, tucked down inside her shirt so that others wouldn't know how badly she was hurting, right against her heart so she could feel his strength.

And then she'd found Tig with some whore and her faith in second chances had been dashed against the rocks. She'd stowed the cross away and let it sit for four years.

She tilted it now, watched the light refract off its polished surface, and then slid the chain over her head. She looked at her reflection and smiled when she saw the big silver cross against the black of her sweater. The chain was so long it hung down to her navel, but that was alright. That was how Jason had worn it and she wasn't about to change anything.

A loud knocking sound echoed through the apartment and she leapt into a startled standing position, heart jumping up to her ears. "What the hell…?" she muttered to herself, smoothing her hands down the front of her sweater. A handful of possibilities raced through her mind and none of them were good; none of them were supposed to know about the man in her shower.

She stepped out into her tiny living room and heard Jax's muffled voice through the door. "Come on, Mags, open up!"

"Shit," she raked her hands back through her hair, scrambling for a solution. If Jax came in…if Jax knew…

"Hey, you alive in there?" he shouted, louder this time. If she didn't shut him up, the neighbors would start popping their heads out into the hall and she'd need a half hour to calm down Mr. Travers about the leather-clad men who came pounding on her door at odd hours and on holidays.

She finally went to the door, slid aside the chain, and slipped out into the hall, closing it behind her. "What?" she asked, unable to hide her annoyance. "Cool your jets, you little 'tard."

Jax had his shaggy hair slicked back against his head with way too much mouse and his black button-up shirt with folded cuffs actually looked pressed. A slightly twitchy Tara stood beside him.

"Oh," Maggie said, surprised to see his girlfriend. "I didn't know you had Tara with you."

"She's coming. We rode over on my bike but I thought we could take your car since there's the three of us," he said. "You are ready, right? Dinner's in like thirty minutes."

"Of course I'm ready."

"Then why are you breathing like you just ran a goddamned relay race?"

"Jax," Tara scolded, giving him a light thump on the arm.

"I'm not," Maggie said, more forcefully than was convincing. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a hummingbird, but she tried to regulate her breathing. "Lemme grab my keys and I'll be back out," she assured, trying to slip back in the door.

"You're not gonna invite us in?" Jax feigned indignation.

"No," she said and slammed the door on him.

She realized, as she crossed her tiny living room/kitchen combo, that she couldn't hear the water running anymore. She went to the bathroom and found the door open; mist pouring out like fog in a bad horror movie.

Chibs was in the bedroom, sorting through their tangle of clothes on the floor, his jeans on but not buttoned, water beading up and dripping off the shaggy fringes of his hair. She paused in the doorway, fingers stealing to the silver cross out of unconscious habit. In that moment, he didn't look like the rough prize fighter that he was or the outlaw biker he was trying to become. He just looked like the man who'd ministered to her every physical desire for two days straight and somehow left her feeling warm, and not at all hollow. She didn't really know what she was, but she didn't feel like his whore. It had been a long time since she'd been more than a piece of ass to someone.

"What?" he looked up at her sideways like he thought she'd gone mad. "You havin' a stroke, luv?"

"No," she smiled and shook herself. "Jax is here, wants me to drive over to Gemma's with him and Tara."

The Scotsman arched a single, questioning brow.

"He doesn't know you're here," she assured. "I gotta get going. You heading out?"

"Aye. I'm sure they've put a hit on me for staying away so long."

A quick sadness rippled through her at the thought of him leaving. She was being ridiculous she knew; she couldn't expect him to want to spend every waking second with her, not after just a week together. But still, she was already lonesome nonetheless.

"Hey," he called her back as she started to turn. He had come to the doorway and put a slightly damp, but warm hand around her neck, cupping the back of her head softly. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" The question sounded almost hopeful in her ears.

"Yeah," she felt a slow smile creep up on her. "Of course."

"MAGGIE!" Jax boomed from outside, killing the moment.

"Alright, I'm gone," she sighed. "Lock up for me?"

He kissed her, quick but thorough, and she thought her knees quivered a bit. "Aye. Go have fun."

***

It became instantly apparent that "fun" wasn't going to be the word of the day when Clay answered the door with a half empty beer in one hand, a heavy scowl pulling his forehead down over his eyes. "Jesus Christ, get in here. She's been busting my balls for half an hour about you loafers…" then he spotted Tara. "Aww shit."

"It'll be fine," Maggie assured, not really believing that it would be herself. She eased past her cousin-in-law and glanced cautiously around the foyer. "Where is she?" she whispered.

"Mags? You here?" Gemma called from the general direction of the kitchen. "Come on, you can help me butter the rolls."

Clay arched his brows as if to say 'told you so'.

"Umm…" Tara stood rooted out on the porch, clutching the sleeve of Jax's shirt with white knuckled force. "Maybe this is a bad idea, maybe I should go…"

"No," Jax said firmly. "It's fine. Come on in, I promise it'll be okay."

"Sure," Clay muttered. He fired Maggie a 'what the hell' look. "Really, Mags? You told him this was a good idea?"

She shrugged. "I'm not his mama. Not my place to tell him no."

"Maggie!" Gemma shouted. "Get your ass in here!"

"Here we go," Clay shut the door behind them. "'Tis the season to be jolly and all that shit."

***

Chibs rolled his somewhat refurbished FXR to a grumbling halt at the end of the line of bikes at T-M. He toed out the kickstand and some mysterious muscle he hadn't known existed flared in protest. He hadn't had that kind of up all night sex in a long time and even after a shower he was almost too sore to function. Riding a woman required a unique set of skills that didn't get used in the ring or under the hood. It was the good kind of soreness though. The kind you couldn't wait to exercise away.

The lot was fairly quiet. Bobby's Fat Boy was there, but he didn't see the round treasurer anywhere. The roll top doors were cinched down and the office windows were black and empty. He did, much to his dismay, spot Tig's bike.

The Sgt at Arms was stretched across the length of the beat-up couch in the common room, arms folded and shades on. Bobby was shooting a solo game of pool, the soft _click _of the balls the only sound in the smoky room.

"Where you been?" Bobby asked as Chibs came in, no trace of malice in his voice, just curiosity.

"Out and about," he said mysteriously. "Gettin' to know the town…shit like that."

Bobby nodded, not overly interested, and tapped the felt-topped table with his cue. "I could stand another player," he invited.

"What about him?" Chibs nodded towards Tig as he pulled a cue off the rack.

Bobby chuckled. "He's tired – up all night waiting on Santa to bring him his ashes and switches."

"Switches were good," Tig mumbled, sounding drunk or half-asleep. "Switches I can use on hookers."

They played two games, Bobby winning both. Chibs hadn't played pool in a long time, and he was seriously rusty. The clubhouse phone rang and it was Sarah. Bobby left, grumbling about his marital status and then Chibs was left alone with the Sgt at Arms.

Tig still appeared to be asleep so Chibs settled into one of the recliners in front of the TV, prepared for ritualistic channel surfing through the inevitable football games and Christmas movies. He smiled when he recalled Maggie's plan for Nord retaliation. Not only would it send the desired message, but it would have the whole town in an uproar with the Aryans.

"What're you smilin' about?" Tig asked sourly.

"I'm not," Chibs lied, forcing his face neutral again.

The other man sat up and swung his legs onto the floor, pushing his shades up into his hair. "Where've you been?" he asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I don't trust you for shit, so spill."

Chibs felt his own eyes narrow. He shook his head a fraction. He wasn't saying anything, least of all to the man who'd sent Maggie into such a tailspin of emotional dysfunction.

Tig stood and leaned over the chair. "Perfume," he said, inhaling deeply. "You smell like a goddamn woman. You smell like…"

Chibs knew he'd been found out. His gut squirmed but he didn't move, just closed his hands over the arms of the recliner and squeezed, taking out his frustrations on the furniture and not Clay's favorite.

"Maggie. Maggie fucking Lawson. Holy shit," Tig said with a chuckle. "You're fucking her, aren't you?"

"It's not like that," he said through gritted teeth.

"Really?" Tig took a step back, amusement dancing all over his face. "'Cause it sounds like that harpy's got her talons in your ass. She's got you now, Scotty-,"

The rest of his taunt was cut off when Chibs bolted up out of the chair and put his elbow into the Sgt at Arm's throat, slamming him down onto the coffee table. Tig didn't struggle, in fact, he laughed.

Chibs pressed harder at his windpipe, turning the cackle into more of a wheeze. Every muscle, every tendon, leapt under his skin, almost desperate to strangle this asshole. His breaths came in quick, furious bursts, rattling in and out of his throat and somehow not getting any oxygen into his lungs. Full on rage had taken over in a sudden and unexpected flare of protective, possessive desperation. His need to defend Maggie's honor had blocked all logic and sent him on a rampage. He was smarter than this, more level-headed. Tig was a jerk, but he was a senior member of the club he was prospecting.

He let go of the other man roughly and stepped back, running a trembling hand through his hair. He had almost snapped. Almost lost control.

Tig took a moment, letting the air return to his lungs, then rolled up off the table, ghosting a hand across his bruised adam's apple. He still grinned though. "That's what I'm talking about right there," he said hoarsely. "She gave you the whole sob story, dead boyfriend and all that shit, didn't she?"

Chibs closed his eyes and concentrated on taking slow, even breaths. He wasn't going to let Tig get to him. Not anymore.

"Poor little sad Maggie," he went on. "Trying to make you feel bad for her and then grinding all over you like a goddamn stripper."

A memory of that night out in front of the Hairy Dog flashed through the Scotsman's head. She'd kissed him, touched, him, rubbed all over him and he'd blamed it on the alcohol. _It was the gin _he reasoned. _She's not a manipulative slut. She's NOT._

"Lemme give you some advice," Tig's smile turned upside down and his face hardened to that steely expression that had earned him the Sgt at Arms gig. "Don't fuck with the Queen's cousin before you're even patched in. And NEVER let a bitch warp your priorities. You wanna be in this club, you don't let pussy make you do stupid shit."

"You gonna tell Clay?" Chibs asked, meeting his stare-down head-on. He knew that if that happened, the President would yank the prospect cut off his back without a second thought.

"No," Tig said icily. "I'm gonna give you 'til the end of the day to break things off, and then the shit's gonna hit the fan."

**TBC**


	11. Oh Holy Night

**AN: Here we go, much faster than last time! I also wanted to mention that I've been kicking around an idea for a sequel to GET OUT ALIVE, but haven't put anything on paper yet. I know some reviewers felt that I shouldn't continue with the whole Holly bit after the way I ended things, but I just can't get the ideas out of my head. There would be some big issues to deal with, mainly Opie since his whole 'now Tig knows how it feels' thing would no longer be in effect. So I won't write it if I can't get all the emotionality just right.**

**But…on with THIS story. As always, reviews make my day ******

**Chapter 11: Oh Holy Night**

**1994**

Dinner went off without a hitch…almost. Maggie had just stood to take her dish into the kitchen, was reaching to take Clay's as well, when Gemma set down her fork and fired a no nonsense look down the table at Tara. "So, Cara," she started.

"It's TARA, Mom," Jax said with no small amount of annoyance. His girlfriend had been hanging around for eight months or more and Gemma damn sure knew what her name was. But that wasn't how the game was played.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Gemma said with a small smirk. "You got any big plans in the next year or so? You know, any thoughts about what you'll do after you graduate?" she asked the now terrified girl. "You _are _going to graduate, aren't you?"

"Jesus Christ," Clay muttered as he passed his plate to Maggie. "Get out while you still can," he told her.

She did. She felt bad for Tara, could hear the teen stammering for words as she slipped through the dining room into the kitchen, but knew that there was no getting in the way of the Queen and her prey. Gem was her cousin, but this wasn't her business. This was Gemma testing the young woman her son had taken a shining to.

Maggie rinsed the plates and stowed them in the dishwasher, adding powder so it would be ready to start up later. Then she pulled the key lime pie out of the freezer and set it on the counter to thaw. She leaned back against the cabinets, taking the weight off sore toes she'd forced into heels for the evening, and was thankful for some time alone. All through the meal her thoughts had stolen to the Scotsman and she had been forced to fight the smile that threatened. She grinned now, like an idiot, as she ghosted a hand across a tender spot on her shoulder. She was damn sore, and damn happy about it.

The sound of the front door opening and closing startled her a bit and she ventured to the threshold to see who had waltzed in unannounced.

Tig stood in the foyer, a rumpled sweatshirt under his cut, his hair a curly and disheveled mess. He pushed his shades up onto his forehead and grinned wickedly when he spotted Maggie. He had that carnal, wolf smile that meant he knew something he probably wasn't supposed to and the thought was immensely satisfying.

She rocked back a step when she saw him and swallowed the uncomfortable lump that swelled up in her throat.

"Hey, dollface," he said, voice smooth and easy.

She had come to realize that when Tig sounded 'easy', he was anything but. "What're you doing here?" she growled, stepping forward to block his entrance into the dining room.

"Christmas dinner," he said, feigning shock at her question.

"If we wanted someone to beg for table scraps we'd have a dog," she bit out. "This is for family only, Tig."

He closed the distance between them, looming over her, his smile becoming even more evil. "Speaking of dogs, where's your new plaything? You take off his leash for the day?"

"What are you talking about?" she frowned, scrambling to cover her sudden panic. He knew about Chibs. _Shit! _

"Oh," he said with false slowness, his killer blue eyes going wide. "They don't know about your Scottish piece of meat, do they?"

"Tig-,"

"Well, I guess Clay and I have some things to chat about, huh?"

"Stop it, you ass!" she hissed between her teeth, growing desperate. "You have NO right to say anything to anybody."

"What's going on?" Gemma's voice sounded from the doorway and Maggie nearly jumped, already wired as she was. She knew that their proximity and the look on Tig's face made their interactions seem anything but innocent. And they weren't; if she could have, she would have throttled the Sgt at Arms.

Tig's face altered in a heartbeat. "Mags said I can't join you guys for dessert," he pouted, playing on Gemma's maternal nature.

Gemma sighed. "'Course you can. Go wait in the living room with Jax and I'll bring you boys some pie," she told him. She put a hand on Maggie's arm and pulled her backward toward the kitchen.

Maggie followed, but not before she caught Tig's triumphant grin.

"Why do you cater to him?" she whispered to her cousin once they were out of earshot.

Gemma shook her head as she started pulling plates from the overhead cabinets. "I know you wanted to chop his balls off back in the day, and trust me I don't want you going down that road again, but you need to let this go, baby." She paused and fixed her younger cousin with a look over her shoulder. "He's SAMCRO, _loyal _SAMCRO, and that's hard to find. The club needs him, which means we do too. And if you'll remember, you were the one who made the big fuss about things."

Maggie sighed, not liking the reprimand.

Gemma turned and put a hand on her hip. "Oh, buck up, kiddo. Be nice…for Jesus."

"I forgot you were so religious," she said with a dramatic eye roll.

***

Chibs didn't know where he was going, he just knew he needed to do something with his excess of adrenaline before he slammed someone else down onto a coffee table. He twisted the throttle and his Harley responded with a new burst of speed; the contained thunder of the engine swelling and ringing through the tailpipes.

Riding a bike was nothing like driving it car. It was almost comparable to the few times he'd been on a horse; when the powerful animal moved beneath him, a big bundle of rolling muscles and legs like driving pistons. The FXR was like that; like the machine _let _him ride it, let him take control of it for the moment. He hated helmets and didn't, in the instant, care that they were required by California law. He let the wind snatch his hair back like the tail of a short, dark comet, and let the world slip by in a blur, the landscape black with shadows in the December evening.

The roads were empty and he let his mind wander, body switching to auto pilot. He was caught, just as the Stones song proclaimed, between a rock and a hard place. He hadn't known Clay long enough to know how protective he was of his wife's cousin, or if he was at all. Somehow, _Tig _had been with her and no one had booted his ass out. But he was a newcomer, new and unproven. A prospect. Prospects didn't just walk right in and snag themselves part of the royal MC family. He could be facing expulsion before he'd even been patched in.

And then there was Maggie. Chibs had started to believe that after the original Maggie, there would only be empty, self-serving sex. Love was a dangerous thing and he wasn't going to become tangled again. But something about her, about his new Maggie, had him _feeling _things again. Back into the danger zone he went.

_Sob story_…that was what Tig had called her past. He couldn't believe that the tears he'd seen were fake, but the Sgt at Arms' statement kept flashing across his mind like a running billboard. _Got her talons in you. _What the hell did that mean?

He didn't realize where he was until he had braked the bike to a slow halt along the curb. He glanced up to the house he'd pulled in front of and recognized it as Clay's.

It was fully dark now, and the windows were ablaze, twinkling Christmas lights visible through some. He saw Gemma's Firebird and Maggie's Monte Carlo in the drive. And two bikes. One belonged to Clay, the other to…Tig.

***

Jax heard the sound of an engine outside and joined Tig at the big picture window in the living room, peering around the taller man's shoulder. "Who's that?" he asked, registering a figure on a bike out in front of the house. It was too dark to tell anything specific about the rider, but Harley meant Son in Charming.

"I think it's our Scottish friend," Tig said mildly.

Jax frowned. "What's he doing here?"

Tig shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe he came to see his girlfriend."

"What?" Jax shot him a sideways, questioning look. "What're you talking about?"

"You didn't know?" the older man turned towards him, brows raised. "Chibs is fucking your cousin."

Three seconds passed in absolute silence while Jax absorbed the information. _Chibs is fucking your cousin. _Chibs, the guy he'd come to think of as a friend and possibly brother in the past few weeks, was _fucking _Maggie, his surrogate older sister. His flesh and blood.

"Mother fucker!" he growled, ducking around Tig and heading for the door. He was stomping, almost running, and the sound brought Gemma and Maggie out of the dining room.

"What the hell's going on?" Clay demanded, joining them.

Jax shook his head, too furious to answer as he yanked open the front door. He caught the distressed look on Maggie's face and his rage deepened.

Chibs was coming up the sidewalk when he barged out into the night, breath pluming in angry bursts of dragon smoke.

"Jax-," Chibs started.

The young biker didn't want an explanation and was too riled up to wait for one. He launched himself at the Scotsman and they both went tumbling off into the yard.

***

There were three addresses in Charming that Chief Wayne Unser knew by heart; his own, Teller-Morrow Automotive, and Clay and Gemma Morrow's home over off Rutledge. It came as no surprise which address had been called out over the radio in association with a brawl on Christmas night.

There were two white and green city cruisers out in front of the brick ranch, revolving lights spilling flashes of red and blue across the entire neighborhood. Neighbors in sequined dresses and green Christmas sweaters had ventured out on their lawns, huddled in their coats, trying to catch a glimpse of the domestic disturbance that had broken the 'silent night'.

Unser parked his own cruiser across the street and approached one of the responding officers. "What the hell's goin' on, Dobbs?"

The uniformed patrolman rolled his eyes as he stuffed his memo pad back in a shirt pocket. "Lady across the street called it in; said there were three guys pounding the ever loving shit outta each other out in the front yard. It's that damn SAMCRO bunch."

Unser sighed and rubbed a tired hand back across his rapidly balding scalp. "Any witnesses get tangled?"

"No," the younger cop shook his head. "Just bikers."

"Where are they?"

"Over there. I got 'em cuffed and called in; all ready to transport."

"I'll take 'em," Unser gave him a thump on the shoulder. "You and Jimmy head out, get back to your families."

Dobbs made a face. "All of them? In the same car?"

"It'll be alright," Unser assured. "I've done this more times than I can count."

The younger cop looked doubtful, but shrugged and headed off to tell his partner that they could pack it up. Unser stepped around the cruiser and found Jax Teller, Tig Trager, and some guy with a scarred up face he didn't recognize all seated on the curb, hands cuffed behind them. Clay stood on the lawn behind them, hands on his hips, shaking his head at the trio like a disappointed father.

"You just had to go and ruin Christmas, didn't you?" Unser asked with a sigh.

Clay shrugged. "Guess these three are on the naughty list this year."

Unser coughed a humorless chuckle. "Lemme guess, it started with this one," he said, nodding towards Tig.

"Come on, Chief," Tig said. "You know I don't like to start trouble."

"That's bullshit," the guy with the scars spoke up, flexing a heavy accent.

"Jesus Christ," Unser muttered. "Where'd you get this one?"

"Fresh from Scotland," Clay said. "You know we're an equal opportunity club and all that."

"No kidding. Alright, boys, get in the car like good kids and maybe I'll let mommy post bail tonight since its Christmas."

"Nope, keep 'em overnight," Clay said. "We don't want 'em back til they cool off. Put these two together," he pointed to Tig and the Scot. "But you might want Mighty Mouse here in a cell by himself."

Jax shook his head and muttered something under his breath. The kid had a split lip and an eye that was rapidly swelling shut.

Unser swept a quick glance across the other two, searching for signs of the fight. Tig's nose looked a little crooked and there was blood at the corners of his nostrils. The Scotsman appeared to be untouched.

He sighed, once again wondering why he hadn't taken the transfer to Lodi when he'd had the chance.

***

Maggie wrapped her hands around the mug of coffee her cousin offered, knowing the caffeine would only add to her jitters but taking a sip anyway. Tara sat across from her, looking like she might puke all over the table any second.

"Come on, girls," Gemma clucked inside her cheek. "Act like you've seen a fight before."

"But I haven't!" Tara squeaked.

Maggie shook her head. "God, I'm beyond sorry, Gem. I had no idea…I mean, I knew Tig was onto me, but…God. Poor Jax. Ugh." She let her forehead fall forward onto the table and she wanted to just wish the whole, horrible evening away.

"So it's the Scotty dog then, huh?" Gemma said, sounding amused. "That's a pretty fine piece of real estate."

Maggie sat upright, firing her cousin a scowl. "It's not like that."

"I know, I know," Gemma assured. "I'm just trying to get you out of your funk." She shot a frown at Tara. "Jesus Christ, powder puff, get the fuck over it."

"What's Clay gonna do?" Maggie asked quietly.

Gemma shrugged. "That depends on you, Mags."

She sighed loudly, the forced breath lapping the surface of her coffee and nearly spilling the hot liquid over the side.

"You're an adult now," Gemma continued. "It's time for you to make an adult decision."

Maggie closed her eyes and the memory of a far away, but very similar evening filled her mind. It was a vision she'd tried to force out of her head countless times, but tonight she couldn't keep it at bay. The past was here and ready to be reckoned with.

**1990**

She didn't even know she was crying because she made no sound. She stared at the far wall of her bedroom and the tears slid in hot rivers from the corners of her eyes and across the bridge of her nose. She lay on her side, hands clutching the pillow with enough force to tear the thing to pieces and scatter its feather filling across the room.

She closed her eyes and felt a fresh wave of tears seep under the lids as she tried to scrub her mind clean of what she'd just witnessed. Her cousin had told her that it was time to move on, time to 'get back in the game', that she couldn't mourn Jason forever. And so she'd struck out, found herself fucked up against the bathroom wall by that scary-intense, blue-eyed friend of Clay's. God he'd been good, and oh how nice it had felt to just forget about everything and let a man pay some attention to her love-starved body. He was older than her, and he was an asshole, but in a funny sort of way. She had convinced herself that he was warm and fuzzy under all that nasty exterior.

But he wasn't. He was just an asshole, nothing more.

"Mags…baby, you okay?" Gemma asked softly from the doorway.

She didn't answer and she felt the bed dip behind her as her cousin sat down. Gemma's hand rubbed in a soothing, circular motion down her back.

"Maggie, he's here," she said.

"Then tell him to go the fuck away," Maggie hardly recognized her own strangled voice.

Gemma sighed. "Sweetie, he's pretty messed up about it. Maybe you should just talk to him."

"Talk?!" she rolled over suddenly, startling Gemma and not caring. This time she knew she was crying because the sobs threatened to tear her words apart. "He was…_fucking_…some…some…whore right there on the pool table! In front of God and everybody! And you want me to talk to him?!"

"Maggie…"

"No. I'm not talking to him. EVER."

"Maggie," Gemma said more firmly, sounding aggravated. "Get a goddamned hold of yourself. I told you the day you came to Charming that you might not like what you found if you started getting in bed with the club. This shit happens, _whores _happen. It's don't-ask-don't-tell around here."

"What?" Maggie became suddenly horrified. "John…he doesn't…oh my God…"

Gemma shook her head a fraction. "This isn't about me, it's about you. I promised you a roof, but I didn't ever promise to keep your heart intact. And Tig warned you himself. You're an adult now, Maggie, it's time to make an adult decision. You take him back, or you move on and quit bawling like a baby."

Maggie closed her eyes and tried to beat back the tear-induced hiccups that threatened. "Send him away," she said quietly. "I can't look at him."

**1994**

Maggie sighed and forced her eyes open, a little bit of clarity returning. "I wanna go bail the boys out in the morning," she said.

"You sure?" Gemma asked.

"Yep. Time to be an adult, right?"

***

Chibs sat on the hard metal cot in the Charming PD holding cell and stared at the one across from him, satisfied that Tig's nose was still bleeding just a little. His sponsor hadn't been given a tissue and had resorted to stemming the blood loss with his sleeve.

"You happy now, _brother_?" Chibs challenged. "Get me locked up finally?"

Tig shrugged and pulled his arm away from his nose, testing for fresh blood with a tentative finger. "You happy, _asshole_? Beating up me and the kid?"

"I didn't 'beat up' the kid," he corrected. "I tried to keep him from hurting himself worse."

"Oh sure. I'm sure Gem will appreciate that. You looking after her baby boy and all that."

Chibs sighed. This shit would go on all night if he didn't finally hash it out. "What's the deal?" he asked tiredly. "Why do you give a shit what happens with me and Maggie, huh? Things didn't work out with the two of you and you've got plenty of crow eaters to keep you in pussy for the rest of your life."

Tig frowned. "I'm trying to be a sponsor – you know, keep your ass from getting kicked out."

"They didn't kick you out," Chibs said.

"I wasn't a prospect."

But that wasn't it. Chibs had a feeling there was something more to the story. "She dumped you, didn't she?"

Tig's responding scowl was ferocious. "Bitches don't dump me, I dump them."

A nerve had been struck. Chibs cracked a grin. "Oh, that wasn't too convincing. Something tells me you're the one with the grudge, not her."

"Shut the fuck up."

"You didn't actually care about her, did you?"

"I said, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Tig roared. His breaths were coming fast, chest heaving with each one. "Mind your own goddamn business."

And then it all made sense. Maggie had taken his infidelity as the last straw, but Tig wasn't done with her yet. Whether there had been actual affection on the part of the Sgt at Arms might remain a mystery. But if nothing else, she had been the one to get away. Possibly the only decent girl to ever grace his bed and _she _had left _him_.

"Oh. I get it," Chibs said with a chuckle. Suddenly, he didn't care about Clay's punishment. The girl had left his best guy twisting for years, so he wasn't too worried about her taking care of herself.

"You don't get shit," Tig grumbled.

"Look," Chibs offered. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm sorry about your nose. Both times I broke it."

Tig shot him a disgusted look. "You don't get it, do you? She can't handle the MC life. She'll drop your ass just like she did me."

"But there's a difference."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I won't fuck around on her."

Tig narrowed his eyes, still looking grumpy, but he tilted his head a fraction, conceding the argument. "Yeah, well…if you can do that, you're a better man than me."

Chibs nodded. That was his go ahead; one biker to another. It carried a bit of a warning with it too. Tig might not have her anymore, but he damn well wasn't about to let someone else rip her to pieces…again.

"I'll talk to Clay," Tig said quietly. "Get him to switch me out for Otto, get off this damn sponsorship gig."

"What about Jackie-boy?" Chibs asked. "Is he gonna get over this?"

Tig shrugged. "Not my problem. But if you can take me out in one round, I don't think you've got shit to worry about with the kid."

"Aye." But he did. He had this need for Jax to not hate him.

But things with Tig had gone down very differently than he'd thought. One hole had been patched, time to fix the rest.

**TBC**


	12. Morning After

**AN: Okay, I knew the Chibs development in last night's episode was coming, but it doesn't change that it totally screws up my fic. But, this is just that, fiction, so it can be AU. On with the show…**

**Chapter 12: Morning After**

**1994**

Jax looked pitiful slumped on the cot in his cell, the early morning sunbeams coming through the high-set window highlighting the damage to his face. He had a shiner that left him no doubt blind in one eye, and the split in his lip had dried to a crispy scab that would pull at the tender flesh at even the slightest twitch of movement. In the pale wash of light, various bruises and scuffs became visible on his face. His operational blue eye opened slowly at the sound of the key turning the big lock.

"Hey, bubba," Maggie called softly, curling her fingers around the bars. "You alright?"

He frowned, and then winced at the pain the expression caused. He didn't say anything as he unfolded his lanky frame off the cot and shuffled to the door.

"You not talking to me then?" she asked, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice. Of all her family, she wanted,_ needed_ for Jax to be okay with her relationship with Chibs. He was, for lack of a better nickname, her Jackie-boy, and she couldn't stand it if he held a grudge.

"No," he grumbled finally, voice hoarse. "I'm talking to _you_."

She sighed. "Don't be mad at him, Jax. Please. This is all on me. You know how persuasive I can be," she offered a hopeful smile.

He didn't return the expression, just nodded a thanks to the junior officer who opened the cell door for him.

"Come on, Jax," she pleaded as he started down the hall back towards the bullpen. "You can't be upset with him. We're two consenting adults here-,"

"I'll meet you at the car," he called over his shoulder, cutting her off as he left the cell area.

She sighed and slicked her hands back through her hair, realizing as she turned around that Chibs and Tig had heard the entire exchange. The two were sitting, oddly enough, in polite silence, neither one of them shooting dirty looks at the other.

"Not only did he find out about us, luv, but Jackie-boy overheard this one last night. So now he knows about that too," Chibs said, gesturing towards his cell mate.

"He thinks you're a slut," Tig said with a grin that was surprisingly innocent.

She folded her arms and passed her glance between the two of them. "What, you two have some quality male bonding time in here last night?"

"We're quite the chums now," Chibs said seriously.

"Yeah," Tig nodded. "We're thinking about getting matching bracelets and shit."

She scowled. "Ha ha, assholes. Thanks to your 'friendly' antics last night, I'm out five hundred bucks."

"Sorry about that," Tig said, smiling hugely.

"You can take it out of my allowance," Chibs offered.

She took a step closer to their cell, squinting as if to see them better. Men never ceased to amaze her; at each other's throats one minute, hugging it out the next. She hadn't expected these two to get over things so easily, what with Tig being the captain of all Charming dickheads, but they genuinely seemed more at ease with one another. She shook her head a fraction in disbelief as the young cop moved to unlock the cell.

"You guys are weird," she muttered as the door swung open with a metallic squeal.

Chibs stepped out first, shooting her a look that was almost unsure of the protocol in the given situation. Everyone now knew about them, but her face plainly told him to proceed with caution. Elbowing her young cousin in the eye and landing the three of them in lock-up for the night wasn't exactly the sort of behavior that earned a guy a big smacking kiss the next morning.

"Can you and Jax keep from getting into it out at the car?" she asked with no little agitation. "I want a word with your lovely sponsor."

Both men raised curious brows.

Maggie let her look soften a bit and gave Chibs a light pat on the arm. "It's alright; I just need to clear some things up. We'll be out in a second."

Chibs frowned, not liking it, but followed the officer out into the hall, leaving Maggie alone with Tig.

When she turned to the Sgt at Arms, he was braced in the doorway of the open cell, arms crossed, a pleased smirk twisting his lips. "You just couldn't wait to get me alone, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I'm so gonna jump your bones in a fucking jail cell. Get over it, Tigger; I really did have some things to discuss with you."

His faced soured. "Discuss? Come on, Mags. I made nice with the Scotsman, don't push your luck," he said, trying to brush past her.

She didn't stand a real chance of blocking him physically, but she tried. She put her hands out, wrapping each around the barred door frame and puffing out her chest, trying to gain even an inch in height. If she stood on her tip toes, her head might be level with the Redwood Original patch over the left breast pocket of his cut.

He scowled and put rough hands around her wrists, ready to yank her out of the way.

"Tig, please," she said, letting her voice soften a little. She hoped it reminded him of before…back when she didn't harbor any of the dark feelings that she did now.

He didn't let go, but he didn't press her further either. "What?" he finally asked with a loud sigh.

She took a deep breath and checked the composition of her thoughts one final time. She'd rehearsed what she wanted to say in the hours she'd lain awake the night before, trying to figure out how to get her message across without sending him into a tirade. "Look," she started. "I'm not gonna pretend that you and I can get along for any real length of time."

He snorted.

"But," she went on. "Gemma pointed some things out to me last night, like the fact that choosing to live here with her means that I'm tied, whether or not I like it, to the club. You guys are her family, all of you, which sort of makes you all my family too."

His face became a little more neutral and she felt encouraged. "And it's not like SAMCRO hasn't been there when I needed a hand…or a gun," she smiled and thought a ghost of a humorous smirk slipped across his features.

She took another deep breath, needing strength for what she was about to say. "Tig, as misguided as it may have been, I _did _care about you back then. Which is probably why I hated you for so long."

His head tilted to the side, almost like a dog's.

"But whatever happened back then, it's over. Done. Dead. I should have moved on…emotionally…a long time ago. And I'm sorry. I know I never should have expected anything less."

The comment would have hurt most men's feelings, but Tig nodded. He knew what he was and made no apologies for it.

"Can we stop being assholes to each other?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed. "Is this a trick question?"

"Seriously, Tig?" she smacked him in the chest, the sound loud against the leather of his cut.

He held up both hands defensively. "Whoa. Hold on, I think hitting qualifies as being an asshole."

"Jerk," she muttered, but had to hold back a smile. "Come on before I change my mind about bailing you out."

He slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked back out into the bullpen. "I got one question," he said, slowing his pace and forcing her to do the same.

She was pleasantly surprised with his chummy side, but wanted his arm off of her before they went out into the parking lot. She didn't know if Chibs might launch a repeat of the previous night's brawl. "What?" she asked, trying to ignore the slightly disgusted glances of the two secretaries out front.

"Chibs?" he asked. "Really?"

"Really," she said. "He's a good guy – sweet but tough. Good in the sack too."

"Better than me?" he asked like it couldn't possibly be so, his free hand against his chest as if in testament to his charm. Or lack there of on occasion.

"Oh yeah. Waaay better than you."

"Liar," he grumbled.

***

Jax was leaned back against the hood of Maggie's car, smoking and staring down at the pavement with his good eye when Chibs stepped out of the precinct. It was a clear, crisp day and the sun poured down on them unfiltered, making it bright enough to squint. He had no idea where his shades were; probably on Clay and Gemma's front lawn.

"Hey, kid," he said carefully as he approached the young biker. The only thing that could be called speaking had passed between the bars of their cells in the form of Jax screaming profanities at him, telling him how bad it would hurt when Clay cut his dick off for laying a hand on Maggie. Then he'd figured out that Chibs wasn't her first biker, and the kid had launched into another volcanic eruption of misplaced rage.

Jax's lip curled up around the butt of his smoke, but he gave no other indication that he heard the Scot.

"Jackie-boy," he tried again with a sigh. "I know you're mad. Well, worse than that probably, and I should have told you-,"

"Told me?" Jax flipped the cigarette away and pushed off from the car, his good eye shooting blue sparks. "Told me what? That you wanted to fuck my cousin? That you have no goddamn respect for this club?!"

"This ain't about the club."

"Bullshit," Jax fumed. He brought up a finger and stabbed the air with each word, emphasizing what he would like to do to Chibs. "I fucking _told _you that family was _off limits_, asshole! And you sneak around behind my back, after everything we've done for you?!"

"It's not like that, Jackie-boy," Chibs said quietly. He was on rocky footing, not sure he could do anything but try and be reasonable with the kid.

"Like hell it's not! Don't talk to me, shithead. Don't you dare talk to me," Jax turned and went around to the far side of the Monte Carlo, visibly shaking with the effort of not launching himself at the other man.

Chibs sighed. It was going to be a long ride back to T-M.

***

Business had not started as normal at the garage. Clay, Bobby, Otto, and Kyle on his crutches were gathered out under the awning of the clubhouse. The non-club mechanics were gathered in loose conversation knots in front of the open garage bays, smoking and watching Maggie back into her usual spot up by the office.

Jax was riding shotgun and he rolled out of the car without a word, slamming it behind him.

Maggie sighed as she killed the engine. "That is one pissed little princess," she muttered. "You guys realize it's gonna take me weeks to talk him back down, right?"

Tig shrugged.

"Sorry 'bout that, luv," Chibs offered.

"Go," she sighed again and waved them off. "Go fix cars, beat your chests, whatever you over-macho Cro-Magnons do."

Chibs crossed the lot and approached the SAMCRO boss with a trepidation that he had learned to hide well. He deserved every second of the ass-chewing he was about to receive, but was a little more worried how the others would take the news about he and Maggie.

Tig, surprisingly, popped him lightly on the arm as they walked side-by-side to the clubhouse. "Clay'll puff up a bit, make sure you know your place, but it won't be bad," he offered.

He shot the other man a sideways look, checking for sincerity, and realized that Tig seemed to be telling the truth.

"Nice of you two to join us," Clay said as they drew up to the tables. The President had his sunglasses on even in the shade and he was working on the last inch of his cigar. He pulled it from between his lips and studied it. "I went ahead and filled everyone in on your little 'festivities' last night."

Kyle chuckled, earning a quick slug from Bobby.

"Clay-," Chibs tried to start, but was waved to silence by the President.

"Don't bother, Scotty. I got the long version from Maggie last night."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Clay looked up, pinning him with a stone look. "Oh." He exhaled and shook his head. "It's damn lucky for you my wife has this very persuasive way of making me see things her way. If it weren't for Gemma, your ass would be still in that cell."

Chibs made a mental note to thank the Queen the next time he saw her.

"Now, I don't give a shit what you do on your own time," Clay went on. "But Maggie's family," he waved his hand to include all his brothers at the table. "And I won't have some prospect playing grab-ass with her and half the goddamn whores in this town. If you're with Maggie, then you're _with _Maggie. What happens on runs is different, but at home, in Charming, I won't have you breaking her heart. Kid's seen enough of that shit."

Clay didn't look at Tig in particular, but the Sgt at Arms nodded in agreement.

"I'm not going to hurt her," Chibs said. "I'm not just killing time with her."

Clay cracked the tiniest of grins. "You serious about this?"

"Aye. I am."

The President cast a glance across the rest of the club, earning nods and shrugs. "Alright then, don't fuck up, or I _will _chop your dick off." He extended a hand for Chibs to shake. "Welcome to the family, Prospect."

***

"You didn't have to do this, Gem," Maggie scolded, moving around her cousin to get to the desk chair.

Gemma had opened up the shop; switched the phone over to active calls and started filling out paperwork.

"Glad to help," she waved off the younger woman's concern. She shot a quick glance through the blinds to the group of men in front of the clubhouse. "How'd it go?" she asked, turning back to Maggie with a face thirsty for gossip.

Maggie shrugged. "Well, your son hates me."

"He'll get over it."

"But I had a nice little chat with Tig."

Gemma arched her brows. "Really?"

"Yeah. We've decided to try and be nice to each other for a change."

"Nice?" Gemma chuckled. "Jesus, listen to you, all optimistic and shit. We should get you hopped up on Scottish dick more often."

***

The day seemed to take forever to wind down, and a sleepless night in a jail cell was taking its toll by the time Chibs finally clocked out and took a seat on an overturned box of air filters outside the garage. The sunset was going to be another of those flame to paper kinds of displays that he found oddly warm yet haunting, and he fired up a cigarette for the show.

"Hey."

He recognized the female voice and scooted over, giving Maggie room to sit if she wanted. The box was on the small side and they were smushed together, sides and arms and knees touching and overlapping. She was warm and smelled like the girly, oatmeal/coffee soap in her shower.

He offered her the cigarette and she shook her head. "I don't smoke."

"Smart girl," he said, taking a drag and then relinquishing it to the pavement.

She settled her head against his shoulder and slid an arm through his, sighing softly.

They hadn't been alone since the afternoon before, but that seemed a lifetime away. Since then, Jax had spawned a violent hatred for him, Tig had finally come to terms with him, and he'd been accepted by the boss, in an odd sort of way.

"Your cousin hates me," he said quietly, not sure if there were listening ears.

"No he doesn't," she said. "He's mad at me but doesn't want to take it out on me 'cause I'm a girl. He'll come around."

He turned his head a fraction so he could see her, watch the hues of the sunset dance across her face. "I told Clay that…" he faltered, not sure if he should tell her.

"Told him what?" She looked up at him, hazel eyes soft.

"That I wasn't just messin' around with you," he told her, unable to keep anything from her when she looked at him that way. "That I was…serious."

She didn't say anything at first and his breath caught, fearful she might laugh at him, call him a pussy for caring like he did. After all, she was used to these independent biker types, maybe she didn't want commitment, maybe she just wanted a good time…

"Are you?" she asked, almost a whisper.

"Yeah."

She kissed his arm through his t-shirt. "I'm glad," she said, settling back against him again.

When she moved, the light caught something around her neck and a flash of silver seemed to mirror the sudden spark of hope that ignited inside him.

"What's this?" he put careful fingers around the pendant and pulled it away from her body, close enough that he could see it. It was a large, silver cross on a chain that would be too long for a man even. It was heavy, solid, well made.

"It was Jason's," she said, for once not sounding misty when she spoke of him. "I haven't worn it in a while, but…" she shrugged.

"Yeah," he said, weighing the piece in his hand. "I get that."

He put an arm around her shoulders and her head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck, her hand finding an easy grip along the zipper of his cut. Across the lot, Jax stepped out of the clubhouse and froze when he saw them. Chibs considered, but didn't release her, and the kid stormed back inside, letting the door close noisily.

"Just give him some time to wrap his head around it," Maggie said. "I'm not sure anyone could stay mad at you for long."

The thought was nice, but it was naïve. Chibs had learned a long time ago that some rifts didn't ever get stitched back up. Some wounds left scars.

**TBC**


	13. Night Before

**Chapter 13: Night Before**

**1994**

Much as Chibs had suspected, Otto was the sponsor he should have had from the beginning. The VP sat on the curb, smoking and watching Chibs work on his bike with this monk-like tranquility, offering advice and slowly-told stories of his personal history with Harley-Davidsons. He still made him do the grunt work; cleaning the bathroom, fetching beers, washing bikes…but without a trace of cruelty. He would make him pay his dues, last out his prospect period, but he wasn't out to break him. It was a nice change.

"You gonna keep the bitch seat?" Otto asked.

Chibs looked at the miniscule extension of the seat that was just the right size for a petite female. The FXR still didn't run too well, and he wasn't sure if she would even want to, but he couldn't wait to get Maggie on the back of the thing. Having her pressed up against his back, arms locked around his waist was more than a pleasant thought.

"I think so," he tried not to sound excited by the prospect. When he turned around Otto winked at him.

"Luann's always been a fan of the bitch seat."

"Hey," Opie joined them; scratching at the wispy stubble of the beard he kept hoping would grow in.

"Wha'cha need, kid?" Otto asked.

Opie's entire baby face twisted up with a reluctance to say what his lips were working around and trying to get out. "Yeah, um…Clay wanted Jax to come tell you guys that it's time to go pick up McKeevy, but…"

"He still pouting?" Otto asked knowingly.

Opie nodded. "Yeah. I guess you could call it that."

Chibs sighed. It had been almost a week since the fight in Clay and Gemma's yard and Jax still couldn't even so much as look at him without making a sour milk face. Chibs had tried various tactics; direct confrontation, subtle hints, taking him beers. The closest thing to a conversation had occurred after Chibs stalked the kid to the bathroom and waited outside, forcing a meeting. Jax had just knocked him with a shoulder on the way out with a muttered "Outta my way, asshole."

He stood and wiped his greasy hands across the front of his work shirt. "You're his best mate," he told Opie. "How do I get him past this?"

The teen shrugged shoulders that seemed too wide for his scrawny frame. "Dunno." Then he grinned. "He's never been pissed at me like this."

"He's just thinking like a kid and not a Son," Otto said. "Maggie's a young, attractive girl, she's gonna be with _somebody. _Jax needs to come to terms with the fact that she's not a nun and just be glad that it's all in the family so to speak. Hell, she just as easily could have shacked up with Darby's crew the way she likes bad boys."

Chibs frowned. "The Aryans? Not likely."

Otto shrugged. "Whatever. Jax needs to get a hold of himself, start acting like he's got a set or something. I love the kid, but…"

"Jesus," Opie made a face. "What do you guys say when I'm not around?"

Chibs and Otto shared a quiet laugh. "Tell Clay I'll be ready in a few," Chibs said.

***

Maggie waited until Chibs and Otto headed out in the van to go pick up the Irishman she wasn't technically supposed to know about before she went in search of Jax. She spent half her lunch break slinking around the T-M lot, sniffing out her cousin and nursing a Fresca because it was the only thing she could get the ancient soda machine to dispense. She finally spotted him up on the roof of the clubhouse and scrambled up the ladder.

"I've been looking all over the damn place for you," she said with agitation, drawing up to his perch on the exhaust fan box.

He took a drag on his cigarette and continued to stare blankly down at the parking lot, ignoring her.

She folded her arms and cocked a boot out to the side in an unconscious imitation of Gemma. "Alright, Jackass," she muttered. "We'll do things the hard way if that's how you want it. You need to lay off Chibs. Now."

He finally turned and sneered at her rather nastily. "You don't get to tell me what to do-,"

"Oh, but you can tell _me _what to do?" she countered, cutting him off. "Let me explain some things to you," she said, taking a step closer and leaning down over him with all the ferocity of a mother. "You being my family, that means you watch my back, ride to the rescue if need be, but it doesn't mean you get to pick who I sleep with."

He started to say something and she waved him to silence. "Don't act holier than thou…you know Gem can't stand Tara and yet I still hear you two dorks giggling like horny school kids out behind the clubhouse some afternoons."

He made a face. Guilty as charged. "Yeah but I know how guys think, Mags. It isn't exactly respectful."

"Chibs has never been anything but respectful to me," she countered. "You telling me you don't ever look at a woman and think about what you'd like to do to her?"

He blushed and looked away. "That's not the point."

"Yeah? Then enlighten me."

Jax sighed heavily. "Chibs knew me first, said he wanted to be a Son before he met you. He knew I was your family and he didn't say anything to me. He just snuck around behind everyone's back like you were some whore he was ashamed of." He glanced back at her, eyes full of contempt for the other man. "He should have come to me, Maggie. Or Mom, or Clay. He's a prospect. He should have said something."

She nodded once, conceding him a point. "Fair enough. But it wasn't just his idea to keep things quiet, that was me too."

"Why?" he sounded hurt.

"Because of this," she waved a hand to encompass their situation. "Because I knew you and everyone else would freak even though it's none of your business. I can be with someone without your permission, Jax."

He looked away again and shook his head.

"This isn't my first rodeo," she reminded. "Not only am I _not _a virgin…"

He shuddered.

"…But I'm not new to this club stuff either. I've got a whole box full of Tig regrets in the back of my closet."

"Jesus Christ, I don't wanna hear that!"

She sat down next to him on the metal box and sighed, tired of their conversation. They sat silently for a moment before Jax finally turned to her, face softer than it had been.

"What…" he paused and shook his head at something. "…What about him…about Chibs…made you want him? And I don't mean in a sexual way," he clarified quickly. "I don't wanna know any of that shit."

She watched two guys below unhook a car from the tow truck and tried to figure out a way to couch things just right so that he would understand. "He gets where I'm at," she said slowly, tapping a knuckle against her temple to indicate her mental state. "He's had some serious loss to deal with in the past too and he can relate." She flicked a glance to her cousin and thought she saw him nod. "He didn't push me, Jax. He didn't just fling me up against a wall and demand that I fuck him. He let the attraction build, let us both come to separate conclusions that we wanted each other."

His lip curled. "I said I didn't wanna hear the sex shit," he reminded.

She sighed and raked a hand back through her hair. "You need to get over this, Jax. Your mom remarried after your dad passed and you didn't have a problem with that."

He took another drag on his cigarette and said nothing.

"Fine," she stood and turned her back on him, giving up. "But I think he'll be a real asset to the club. Don't screw up SAMCRO over some personal beef."

She headed for the ladder without a backward glance. The van pulled back in at the gate and her mood lightened a bit. Why talk _at _Jax when she could talk _to _Chibs? Or better yet, why talk at all?

***

Otto climbed out from behind the wheel the moment the van was in park, sensing that the silent ride back to the garage had been for his benefit. Chibs waited until the door was shut and then turned around in his seat toward McKeevy.

"Something you wanted to say?" he asked the Irishman.

McKeevy gave a facial shrug. "I'm just surprised you're in so deep with them already is all."

Chibs frowned. "I thought you said this would be good for things."

"It will be, but I thought it might take you longer to get in bed with SAMCRO."

His frown deepened. "I'm not 'in bed' with them. I'm prospecting, McKeevy; I'm gonna join them."

"You get yourself a motorcycle?"

"Aye."

"I'll be damned," McKeevy sounded a little shocked. "You were serious then – about stepping away from the cause."

"I can support it without blowing up cars," Chibs said firmly. "I thought that was why you brought me here; let me find a place somewhere else."

The Irishman shrugged. "Just surprised is all, Fil. Don't make a thing of it."

Chibs watched the other man climb out of the van with narrowed eyes. It wasn't very often, but sometimes, he wondered if the IRA might eventually be the death of him."

***

"Two big items on the roster," Clay said at the opening of Church. "One; the new gun shipment. Two; the Nord game plan for tomorrow night."

"McKeevy said he's got the guns in oil barrels this time, well camouflaged too so the port assholes shouldn't be all over him this time," Otto said.

"When can he take them off the boat?" Clay asked.

The VP paused to take a drag on his smoke. "Day after tomorrow."

"Good," Clay nodded.

"Everything's all set for tomorrow," Bobby said. "We've got Chibs in the eight o' clock slot up against whichever asshole Darby decides to put in the ring."

"Gonna be a massacre, man," Tig said with delight. "Otto's had him on the bag all afternoon. Those Nazi pricks don't stand a snowball's chance in hell walking out of this."

Clay grinned. "Of that I have no doubt. How goes the second part of that scenario?" he aimed a look down the table at Jax.

The young biker shrugged. "Ope and I've got everything we need, just a matter of being careful is all."

The President frowned.

"I'll go with 'em," Piney offered. He grinned. "Man the getaway car so to speak."

"Yeah," Clay muttered. "Something tells me the 'boom' will be a little bigger if you're involved."

The eldest member held up both hands in innocence. "No boom. Cross my heart."

The rest of the guys snickered.

"Alright, keep an eye on 'em," Clay said. "But I want everybody else at the fight. Don't want Darby getting suspicious about things. Oh," he paused and grinned when he shot a look at Otto. "Don't forget to tell your prospect about the pre-fight rules. No booze, no dope, no pussy."

***

The no pussy rule always got under Chibs' skin for multiple reasons. Firstly, it denied him pussy, a big enough infraction in and of itself. But secondly, it was insulting. He wasn't some half-washed-up, punk-drunk kid with an occasional lucky jab. He was him, the 'king of the cage' and all that shit.

Leaving to go to Maggie's apartment would be an obvious breaking of the said unfathomable rule, so he'd told her goodnight with a chaste kiss before she shut the office down for the night. She'd looked a bit disappointed, but nodded her understanding.

It came as a shock, therefore, when he walked into his dorm room down the back hall of the clubhouse and found her seated on his bed, all buttoned up in a black trench coat. She uncrossed and crossed her legs in a very deliberate way as he entered, twirling one stiletto-heeled foot through the air and shooting him a devious smile that could mean any number of things.

"Mother of Christ," he muttered, closing the door in a hurry. "You're not supposed to be here, luv. They'll skin me alive if they find out."

She stood and closed the distance between them with three purposeful, strutted steps, stabbing at the carpet with her heels. She twisted the belt of the coat between her hands, letting her fingers glide to the ends of the knot in an almost caress.

"I suggest you lock the door and keep quiet then because I'm about to get all kinds of naked." Her voice was a purr. An enticing, sultry invitation.

Excitement raced through him in a warm little chill. His hands quivered with the effort of not reaching out and pulling her against him, but he knew the second he touched her he would be finished. He wouldn't be able to just go halfway.

He groaned. "Clay will have me for this, darlin'. You know that."

She stepped even closer and pressed a palm against the flat of his belly, scratching him gently with her nails through his shirt. "So tell me to leave," she taunted softly, letting her caress trail lower. She skimmed a finger in a lazy circle across the button of his jeans, leaning forward until their clothed bodies kissed.

"You know I can't do that," he chuckled, tipping her head back with a finger. Her lips curled in a victorious smile and he put his mouth to hers, trying at tentative but quickly needing to push apart her lips and feel her tongue on his own.

She put her hands under his shirt, across the planes and ridges of muscle as she leaned up into the kiss, giving just as good as she received. She wasn't intimidated by his unrestrained hunger and met each nip and tease with one of her own.

They kissed until they couldn't breath and when she broke away she dropped to her knees. "They said no _pussy, _right?" she asked breathlessly as she unfastened his pants and pulled down the zipper.

"Aye," he grinned, already hard for her and knowing where she was taking this.

"We bend the rules, but don't break them," she reasoned before she took him in her mouth.

He leaned back against the door while she blew him, one hand clenched around the door knob, the other tangled in her hair, straining to keep from forcing her pace. She worked slow, but thoroughly, and brought him to the edge with a tantalizing mix of tongue and teeth. He thought his knees might give out when he finally came and she slid back up his body, rubbing all her important parts against him on the ascent.

"Better?" she asked, pressing an easy kiss to the corner of his mouth. The tip of her tongue made a light trip up one of his scars and his need returned, not satiated by just a single act.

"What've you got on under that coat?" he asked, his accent sounding thick and unintelligible in his own ears even.

She leaned back a fraction and untied the belt, letting the garment slide back off her bare shoulders and puddle at her feet. She was naked underneath.

"Fuck the rules," he told her, gliding both hands from her shoulders down to cup both breasts. He kneaded them, tested their weight and flicked his thumbs across her nipples until the rose-colored tips strained erect against his touch. A little hiss of pleasure crossed her lips as she arched into his caress.

He smiled. That was how he liked it; her wanting him, more so than the other way around. He wanted her just as breathless and desperate as he was, wanted her to beg for it.

He slid his hands down her sides and cupped her bare ass, picking her up and taking her to the bed. She reached up for him, pulling him down to her as he slid inside her. He moved inside her hard and fast, bringing her to a climax that had her bucking beneath him. He swallowed her sounds of pleasure, hiding their interactions from the rest of the clubhouse. He lay still inside her for a moment, loving the way her contractions died away slowly, relishing the way she felt around him.

She pushed lightly at his chest. "Roll over," she said. "I wanna ride this time."

Fuck the rules indeed.

***

Jax and Tara sat on the curb out in front of her father's house, huddled together to fend off the chill that had settled across the benighted California landscape. They stared up at the sky, counting the constellations and both ignoring the fact that her dad was passed out across the living room floor inside, totally shitfaced.

"Why doesn't your mother like me?" Tara asked softly.

He sighed and glanced at her from the corner of his eye, reading the confusion all over her face. "It's complicated," he said. "She wants me to be with someone I can count on, but she thinks I need to be with a woman who can handle the club."

She frowned, dark brows drawing together over skin that was made all the paler by the moonlight. "I'm not like her or her cousin," she said almost bitterly. "I'm not as hardcore as them."

He was a bit surprised by her reaction, but when he watched the disappointed twist of her features, he knew that she was right. He'd never seen anything close to this expression cross Gemma or Maggie's faces.

_Hardcore? Really? _He wondered.

Tara sighed and stared down at the toes of her loafers. "I'll admit it, Jax, I have a hard time with all the violence. Getting in fights out in the yard? On Christmas? Who does that?"

He skimmed gentle fingers down through her hair and tried to decide if Maggie had asked the same thing of Chibs. _No _he decided. _She didn't. Probably won't._

He sighed. When all the anger in him fizzled away, his cousin was right. Just like she always was.

***

"How's he workin' out, Clay?" McKeevy asked after a swallow of beer.

"From the sound of that headboard against the wall in there, I'd say he's working things out just fine," Bobby said with a chuckle as he came out of the dorm hall.

Clay grumbled under his breath and shook his head. "What did I say about no pussy, huh? Is he Scottish or deaf?"

Tig grinned and rubbed at a tired spot between his eyes. "Yeah. You try telling Maggie 'no'." He earned several perturbed looks and shrugged. "What?"

The President sighed and turned to McKeevy. "Fucking my little cousin-in-law aside, he's doing alright. Saved the kids' asses a couple of times."

"Glad to hear it," the Irishman said. "You'll keep him around then?"

Clay shot a curious glance around the rest of his crew, earning nods and affirmative eyebrow twitches. "Yeah," he said, lifting his beer. "We'll keep him around."

**TBC**


	14. If You Want Blood

**Chapter 14: If You Want Blood**

Fight night finally arrived. The Sons made a go at a normal day's work, offering Chibs advice when they "happened" across his path. Eventually though, everyone gave up and settled around the bar in the clubhouse, all but Chibs drinking and predicting how the night would progress. Gemma and Maggie joined them after five.

"I'm glad to see you're all worried about this place turning a profit," the Queen grumbled as she swept into the main room.

"Come on, Ma," Jax said. He was sitting on the couch with Piney, still not wanting much to do with Chibs. "We're all too excited to work."

She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Worse than a bunch of goddamn kids on Christmas morning."

Maggie came up behind the stool on which Chibs was sitting, dancing her fingers across the back of his cut. "Hi," she said, not wanting to get all mushy in front of the guys.

"Hey, luv," he responded quietly, obviously thinking the same thing.

Their exchange didn't go unnoticed though. "You coming tonight, girlie?" Bobby asked over the rim of his beer mug.

"Of course," she said. "Like I'd miss a good Nord stomping."

Bobby made a face. "Now see, why can't my wife think like that?"

"Which one?" Otto asked with a chuckle.

He shrugged. "Hell, any of 'em."

"You gotta babysitter?" Clay asked her with an overly paternal look.

Maggie rolled her eyes.

"I'm coming," Gemma said, sidling up beside her husband and sliding under the arm he lifted for her out of habit. "I'll keep her from making a fool of herself, yelling about kicking ass and shit."

Maggie glared at her cousin and earned a smirk.

***

Jax hitched up the strap of his one-shoulder knapsack and resettled the weight of its contents in a more comfortable position against his hip. He bobbed his head side to side, scanning the pulsating, murmuring crowd for signs of Aryan pricks. Dawson's was packed wall-to-ring with every rowdy, gambling-addicted fight fan in the county. Men, women, blacks, whites, Hispanics…gender and race lines were left at the door in favor of a good brawl. The ceiling was draped with colored Christmas lights and there was still red and green bunting covering the supportive underbelly of the bleachers.

"You see anything?" Opie had to shout to be heard over the crowd.

Jax started to shake his head and then spotted a mean face, shaved head, and a swastika tattoo. "Over there," he thumped his friend in the arm and pointed at the small cluster of Nords on the other side of the ring.

"Darby?"

"I don't see him yet. He must be in the back with his guy."

Jax felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Clay leaning between the two of them. "You kids all set?" he asked with a grin. He looked genuinely delighted at the night's schedule of events.

"Yep," Jax said. "Just tell us when."

Clay nodded.

***

The term 'locker room' was used very loosely at Dawson's. The men's and women's restrooms had been converted with benches and the demo of all but one toilet into a changing/prep area for the fighters, split in half so the opponents didn't have to see or hear one another.

Chibs sat on the bench in the former men's room, leaning back against the tile and breathing deeply. He liked to prep calmly for a fight. Close his eyes, envision the desired outcome. His opponents were always too hyped, too out of synch with their bodies. Some guys needed riling up, needed the slaps and trash talk, but he preferred the quiet.

Unfortunately, Tig felt the hype was necessary. He and Otto were pacing around the room, offering last minute encouragement and advice.

"I'd wear him out for a while," Tig said, eyes glittering with excitement. "Let the asshole think he's holding his own, then break his fucking face."

"You fellas know who I'm up against?" Chibs cracked one eye open, amused at the other man's level of animation.

"Yeah," Tig nodded. "That big ugly shithead, what's his name?"

"Whistler," Otto supplied with a grin. "Guy's just dumb muscle, not accurate for shit."

"That the one I popped in the bar that night?"

"Unfortunately no," Tig said. "I think that was Archer – he's even sloppier."

Chibs shrugged. "Don't matter either way."

Tig and Otto shared a pleased look. This was going to be one hell of a knock-out.

There was a soft rap at the door and Bobby stuck his head in. "Our boy ready?" he asked.

Chibs nodded and tugged on each of his fingers quickly, then curled his hands into fists, knuckles popping loudly.

"He's good," Otto affirmed. "They calling us in?"

"Three minutes," Bobby said.

***

Maggie followed Gemma up the bleachers, careful not to turn over a beer or step on any fingers. Ahead of her, Gemma kicked aside a paper plate full of nachos and earned a "What the fuck, lady?" She grumbled something along the lines of 'bite me' and continued her ascent.

They finally reached the tier where Clay, Jax and Opie had reserved seats for them. Some of the other fight-goers were eyeing the nearly empty section of seating with shifty glares, but none were so stupid as to ask three Sons to scoot together and let someone else have a seat.

"Hey, gorgeous," Clay greeted Gemma as she settled in next to him. She gave him a peck on the cheek and waved away the compliment.

"How's our Scotty dog?" she asked.

Maggie sat between her two cousins and leaned around Gemma to strain and hear the response.

"I just sent Bobby back to check," Clay said. "This round's about over, so he should be up next," he motioned toward the match winding down in the ring. One of the fighters had so much blood coming from a cut above one eye there was no way he could see anymore.

"You still sulky?" Maggie asked, turning to Jax.

"No," he said defensively. He didn't meet her glance. Yep, still sulky.

She sighed. "Are you and Ope ready for phase two?"

He nodded, face losing some of its tension. "Yeah. Piney's gonna come with, keep the motor running."

"Good," she said. "I kinda wish I was going with you guys."

He snorted. "You know chicks can't be involved in shit like this." He frowned. "Besides, don't you want to be here to watch your _boyfriend_?"

She grinned. "Boyfriend? Nice choice of words, Jax. I haven't said that before."

He shook his head and she couldn't help but chuckle.

The ringside bell dinged, calling an end to the current fight. Two guys climbed through the ropes and helped the staggering, bloody fighter out. Blood was wiped from the mat, dirty towels and water bottles were collected, and the blue and red corners cleared out, leaving the ring empty for the moment.

Maggie turned away from her overly emotional little cousin and found herself scooting forward to the edge of her seat, her hands doing a nervous dance on the fronts of her thighs.

"You're not excited or anything, are you?" Gemma asked with flat amusement.

"This is gonna be awesome," she replied, straining taller as she spotted a round, familiar biker coming out of the back hall on the far side of the ring. "Ooh, I see Bobby."

"And I see a bunch of Nazi assholes," Clay said motioning toward the small group of Nords that were stepping out into the crowd. There were four guys, including Darby, all circled protectively around a big, shirtless meathead in silk shorts.

"_Match four about to start, ladies and germs," _the announcer boomed. _"Jennings v. Telford in two minutes!"_

The Nords took up stance down below the blue corner and their guy scrambled up the ropes and into the ring, taking a seat on the little stool. Bobby went to the red corner to wait for the SAMCRO fight crew.

"Here they come," Opie piped up.

Maggie glanced back to the mouth of the hall and caught Tig and Otto coming out of the locker area with Chibs between them. He had his black knuckles wrapped and his shorts looked like they could almost slide off his slim hips. Her heart did a little involuntary stutter as her eyes did a quick, appreciative scan of his lean but toned physique. Each of his muscles stood out in stark definition under his skin, but didn't add any bulk to his frame. He was tall but wiry and she had come to appreciate his panther-like litheness between the sheets. Sex with Chibs was not the furious, jack-hammer stuff of some. It was hard and rough and left her bruised in the morning, but it was all very deliberate. He used his body and expected her to do the same.

She felt the heat creep into her cheeks for letting herself get lost in her own head like that and chased the thoughts away. There would be time for physical appreciation later.

"Hey, Mags," Clay said, leaning around his wife. "He got enough juice left for this match? You didn't wear him out too bad last night, huh?"

Gemma smacked him on the arm. Jax made a disgusted grunting sound in the back of this throat.

Maggie's blush deepened. "Don't worry," she said, fighting off an embarrassed grin. "He's got plenty of juice to go around."

Clay chuckled and sat back. "Good to know."

"Jesus Chirst, Clay," Gemma grumbled. "Don't encourage her."

The President held up his hands in a helpless gesture. "She ain't related to me – get's that shit from your family."

Gemma harrumphed, but grinned.

When Maggie returned her attention to the ring, she saw that Chibs was already in position in his corner, Tig, Otto and Bobby all standing up on the ropes, leaning over and knocking him lightly on the shoulders, working him up for the fight. He rolled his head side to side once, cracked his knuckles, then stood still, quite composed in contrast to his opponent.

Darby's guy was hopping up and down and throwing phantom punches, his fellow Nords yelling and waving in encouragement. They were all tickled pink at the thought of going up against a foreigner.

"He's got this," Jax spoke up beside her and she turned in surprise. He offered her a bare hint of a smile. "Chibs is a killer in the ring. The other guy won't even get a hit in."

"Jax," a slow grin spread across her face. "Are you being…supportive?"

He frowned again. "Don't make a thing of it."

The bell sounded, snatching her attention back to the ring. She saw the ref back clear of the action and Chibs approached the Nord. She felt her hands come together under her chin, suddenly fretful, and Gemma's hand closed over her shoulder.

"Alright, Scotty," Clay said. "I wanna see some blood."

***

"Knock the fucking shit outta him!" Chibs heard Tig call as he approached the big skinhead in the center of the ring.

The guy was on par with his other white supremacist buddies; no hair, pasty pale and sporting a wide, sloped forehead that resembled some sort of pre-Christ era barbarian. His arms were a patchwork of Aryan tattoos, the largest of which was a swastika laid over a skull on his right forearm. He grinned nastily and came up to Chibs, churning his fists through the air in anticipation.

"I hope you like the taste of your own teeth," he cackled as they circled one another. "You're gonna choke on 'em, Frenchie."

Chibs got up on the balls of his feet, moving his dance faster than his opponent's, forcing the other man to turn quicker than he was probably comfortable. "Ach, Frenchie? Did you just call me French?"

He chuckled. "What you gonna do about it?"

Chibs backed toward the ropes, drawing him forward, then ducked suddenly right, throwing out a quick jab that the Nord moved to block. In the instant that the asshole's left hand moved away from his body, Chibs darted into the gap and knocked him with a hard right to the chin, then moved on. "I'm Scottish, shithead," he muttered. "Don't EVER call me French."

The big guy wasn't hurt, but was now violently embarrassed. He came at Chibs fast, lumbering across the mat.

This time Chibs took him head-on, blow for blow, registering the cheers and yells of the Sons behind him. The big guy had a hard fist, but he was just a little too slow. The round came to an end when Chibs sent him spinning backward into the ropes, going down hard on his ass.

"You better get used to that," Chibs said, leaning over his opponent. "You're gonna be down there a lot tonight."

He turned and Otto had a hand waiting for him to slap. Bobby and Tig were grinning and laughing. He shot a quick glance over the heads of the floor crowd and up into the bleachers. He couldn't miss Maggie because she was one of the few women on her feet, hands cupped around her mouth as she whooped her approval. He grinned and raised his fist in acknowledgement.

She smiled hugely and on the other side of Gemma, Clay nodded his approval.

"Hey, it ain't over yet," Bobby drew him back to reality. "He ain't bleeding."

***

"Okay, kids," Clay nearly had to shout at Jax over the cheering crowd. "You two head out."

Jax and Opie stood, scanning the bleachers in search of a navigable way back down.

"You boys be careful," Gemma said.

"Yes, Mom," they said in unison.

Neither of them noticed that two of Darby's guys broke away from the herd.

***

"Okay, you two," Piney huffed, leaning through the window of the van. "You got ten minutes before I come looking for you. If you're smart, you won't make me get my old ass outta this van."

"Sure, Pop," Opie nodded and hefted his old Sheridan BB gun over one shoulder.

"Won't take long," Jax assured, rapping his knuckles along the hood of the van as they struck out across the deserted parking lot. They had parked in the back lot where the buses were loaded, strategically positioned amongst the dappled shadows cast by the ancient paper birch that sprouted along the sidewalk. The location hid the van, but left Jax and Ope exposed to the stark moonlight as they made their way across the high school property toward the football field.

They ran, and tried to hunker down as they slipped into the shelter of the holly bushes that butted up to the concession stand. Their school didn't have a true stadium, just a field and several sets of low bleachers. It was encircled with chain link, but the lock was cheap and a little observation during gym class had revealed only two security cameras, both on the front side of the concessions building.

It took Jax half a second to pick the lock and then both of them pulled their ski masks down into place as they pushed through the gate. Opie cocked his Sheridan and used it to take out both camera lenses silently. They had decided that an actual gun would only attract attention and Ope's old pump action would do the trick.

Once they were clear of the cameras, Jax set his bag down and unzipped it. He pulled out four cans of lighter fluid and tossed one to Opie. "Where should we start?" he asked.

"Fifty yard line," Opie said with a smile on his voice.

Jax nodded. "Yeah, we can each take it out to the twenty, make it symmetrical."

They each picked up another can and headed out across the field, the full moon casting their shadows as if it were daylight.

***

Clay did indeed get his blood. During the fourth round, Chibs split the other guy's lip open much to SAMCRO's delight. The Aryan only made it one more round before he was KOd and had to be hefted out of the ring by his comrades. Darby looked disgusted and the ringside Sons went wild.

Maggie waited out in the parking lot with Gemma and Clay, giddy on victory and hardly able to stand still. When Chibs and the others came out, she practically launched herself at him.

"Easy, darlin'," he laughed, catching her. "I ain't unconscious but he unloaded on me pretty good."

"You hurt?" she pushed back immediately, running her hands across the front of his t-shirt, checking for any signs of injury.

"Calm down," Tig rolled his eyes. "His dick's not broken."

She shot him a scowl that he couldn't miss under the security lamp. "How do you know? You looking?"

Bobby and Otto chuckled.

"Not bad, Prospect," Clay said appreciatively, slapping the Scotsman on the back. He patted the breast pocket of his cut. "Ring-side action was good too. A few more fights like that and we'll be in beer for the next year and a half."

The guys continued to praise Chibs with an occasional play punch thrown in as they made their way across the parking lot toward the fleet of bikes backed in alongside Gemma's Firebird. Maggie walked beside him, not holding hands, but close enough that they wouldn't appear casual to an onlooker.

All revelries stopped when Darby stepped out of the shadow, one of his minions at his side.

"Come on, Darby," Clay sneered, holding up his hands in annoyance. "Didn't you embarrass yourself enough tonight? You lookin' for another beat-down out here in the parking lot?"

The Nord leader smiled humorlessly and folded his bare, tattooed arms. "Actually, I wanted to congratulate your guy on a fair fight. I didn't know SAMCRO knew how to play by the rules."

Maggie's skin crawled just at the sight of the man. She stepped into Chibs, brushing against him and reaching to hitch her purse further up her shoulder, only to realize that her purse wasn't there. She looked down, patting the front of her sweater, wondering how she could have misplaced it.

"What?" Gemma asked, noticing her sudden flurry of panic.

"I must have left my purse inside," she turned around, checking the pavement and coming up empty. "Jesus Christ!" she hissed. "I had fifty bucks in there."

"What's wrong, luv?" Chibs asked.

"I gotta go back in and check for my purse," she said, already stepping away from their group.

"I'll come with you," Chibs said.

She waved him off. Darby and Clay were still conversing in anything but polite tones. "No, stay here unless this shit goes south," she said, motioning toward the President. If a Nord-Sons brawl broke out, they would need Chibs.

He frowned at her, but let her go and she jogged back toward the building, glad to put some distance between herself and Darby. Of all the scum bags in Charming, the Aryan leader was the one able to set her teeth on edge. He was just plain oily – made Tig look like a boy scout.

There was still a sparse crowd outside the double doors of the converted warehouse; some grizzled guys in trucker caps intent on taking home one or several of the working girls taunting them with short skirts and chunky legs. Maggie slipped between them and back into the main fight area, thankful that the place was empty and she wouldn't have to waste time looking around anyone.

She bounded up the bleachers two at a time until she reached her earlier seat, dropping to her knees and scanning the ledge under the bench. She sighed with relief when she found her leather hobo bag tucked away right where she'd left it. She pulled it out and dug quickly through its contents, amazed to see that her cash and credit cards were still there.

She slung it over her shoulder and turned to head back down the bleachers, making it only half a step before she spotted the Nord blocking her path. He grinned, flashing dingy teeth and her heart leapt into a gallop behind her sternum.

"You remember me?" he asked with eerie politeness.

She did. He was the guy Chibs had punched at the Hairy Dog several weeks ago.

***

Jax paused and checked the trail of lighter fluid he'd drizzled across the turf. It was getting late and the dew was settling, making it hard to see the pattern he and Opie had poured and diluting the kerosene.

"You set?" he called to his friend.

The dark, masked figure across the field stepped back and waved in affirmation.

Jax grinned as he pulled a book of matches from his back pocket. He couldn't quite believe they were going to pull this off. The next day, the custodial staff was going to find one hell of a surprise when they made their routine sweep of the campus.

He broke off one match, struck it, and poised it to the edge of the rest of the book.

"Drop the goddamn matches," a voice growled behind him.

Jax froze. While his heart pounded, he tried to put a face to the voice. He shot a look across the field and saw that a dark figure had come up behind Opie, gun raised.

"_I said_, put 'em down!" the mystery man insisted.

Jax pulled in a deep breath, watching the flame eat away at the match stick. It was probably stupid, and it might get both he and his best friend killed, but it was his only move.

"Okay," he said with a shrug. He set match to book and let them both drop to the kerosene soaked earth.

**TBC**


	15. You Got It

**AN: Sorry to leave you guys with a cliffhanger – mean, I know. So I thought I'd make it up to you with a fast update. But, I'm tired, so the end doesn't sound quite right to me and I can't figure out how to fix it. Oh well. Apologies for any typos.**

**Chapter 15: You Got It**

All Maggie could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Darby's crony extended his arms out to the side and cackled, ready to tackle her if she took another step.

Adrenaline coursed through her in a hot wave, leaving her limbs tingling and her head throbbing. It was suddenly sweltering under her light denim jacket. Her fingers twitched uncontrollably through the air. She knew there was only one thing Darby's guy wanted; recompense for his embarrassment at the hands of a foreigner. And he wouldn't think twice about flinging a SAMCRO princess down the bleachers and snapping her neck.

She took a deep breath and scanned his burly frame, desperate for a plan of action. Screaming for help would only hasten her demise and overpowering her attacker would be impossible.

"What's the matter, sweet cheeks?" he asked, delighted at her terror.

She pulled in another shaky breath and tried to compose her fear. "Nothing's wrong," she ground out, sliding a hand into the depths of her purse. She had a switchblade somewhere amongst the candy wrappers and tubes of lipstick. If only she could get to it…

"Nah nah nah," he took another step up and reached out for her. "You ain't pullin' a knife on me, sneaky little bitch."

Maggie shifted sideways, barely escaping his grasp. She darted a sideways glance towards the exit, praying that maybe one of the stragglers would peek back inside.

"You're one stupid shithead," she stalled, taking another sideways step. Her voice sounded much stronger than it should have. "Taking out the Queen's cousin? Dumb move, asshole."

He stepped up to her tier, looming over her. "You won't be around to rat me out," he said with pleasure.

She knew what would come next; knew exactly how things would play out. He would overpower her and then things would go black when her head smacked into the aluminum bleachers.

But knowing her destiny didn't make it any easier to take. She swung her purse around and caught him in the side of the head with it. He let out a startled cry and she took the opportunity to make a flying leap down the bleachers. She made it almost a third of the way down before she heard his boots clomping behind her.

"Stupid bitch!" he bellowed. "I'm gonna…"

Maggie winced as she ran, anticipating the feel of him snatching up a handful of her hair.

"Oh shit!!" his swearing took another direction.

She glanced up and saw Chibs and Tig charging up the bleachers towards her. All the fear left her in a rush, leaving her dizzy and gasping for breath.

The Nord knew the tables had suddenly turned and she heard him make a scramble back the way he'd come, but Chibs was faster. He was past her in an instant, shouting at Tig to get her out of the way.

She gladly let the Sgt at Arms take hold of her wrist and tow her back down to solid ground. He was grinning wickedly when they turned back and watched the Scotsman pound Darby's guy into a bloody, lifeless heap.

This time there was no ring and no ref, and there was more at stake than a title and a winner's purse. Maggie was a little shocked at how aggressively he tore into the Aryan. "Jesus," she breathed.

"Come on," Tig tugged her lightly toward the door. "He's got this and you don't need to watch the bastard kick off."

She nodded and followed, suddenly a little weak in the knees. The sudden coming and going of such an intense stress made her feel as if she'd run a marathon. She swiped a hand back through her hair as they stepped out into the night, feeling the dampness of sweat against her scalp. "How'd you guys know to come after me?" she asked shakily.

"Darby kept looking over at the door and we realized he was a few shitheads short," Tig shrugged. He paused and glanced down at her, frowning. "You don't look so hot. You alright?"

"Oh yeah, I almost get killed, I'm just peachy," she scoffed.

Gemma came hurrying up to them, heels clicking against the pavement. "You okay, baby?" she asked. Her dark brows were pulled together under her bangs in worry.

Maggie nodded.

"She's fine," Tig assured.

Gemma let out a relieved sigh as she touched her younger cousin lightly on top of the head, doing a quick sweep of her to double check. "Where's Chibs?"

Tig cackled. "He's giving the custodians a hand cleaning up."

She nodded, satisfied. "Come on," she took Tig's place at Maggie's elbow. She started to lead her back towards their group but Chibs stepped out of the building.

"You okay?" he asked quickly, coming around in front of Maggie. His little brown eyes looked unusually huge under the security lamp, and they glittered with something…predatory almost.

"Fine," Maggie assured, noticing the blood spattered across his knuckles and part-way up his arms. His chest was heaving, the chords of muscle in his neck standing out under slick skin. She hadn't ever seen him so wound up.

"You sure?" he lowered his voice. His accent was a little thicker than normal. He put a hand on her shoulder, careful not to transfer the Nord's blood onto her jacket.

"Yes," she caught his gaze and brushed a quick caress across his cheek. "I'm fine. Really."

He nodded and stepped back, looking a little shaky himself.

Gemma glanced between the two of them, still worried, but secretly pleased with the Scot's sudden display of protectiveness. "What the hell was that all about?" she asked.

"That was the fella I popped at the bar," Chibs explained, shaking his head. "If I'd known…"

"None of us knew," Tig stepped in. "We shoulda guessed that Darby couldn't stand to lose a fair fight and leave things alone. That was a bold move going after you," he nodded toward Maggie.

"It was a _stupid _move," Chibs corrected. He spit on the sidewalk. "Fucker."

"Alright, let's take this party somewhere else," Gemma urged. "And get you cleaned up," she added, motioning to Chibs' bloody hands.

He glanced down, noticing the carnage for the first time. He growled in the back of his throat, suddenly wishing he'd finished the guy off rather than just rearranging his face. What he'd wanted to do to Maggie, what he almost _had _done inspired a whole new level of fury in Chibs. If he'd been any longer in going after her, if he'd hesitated just a second more…he shook his head, not wanting to envision the outcome.

Bobby met them halfway across the parking lot, winded just from the short walk. "We got a problem," he huffed. "Darby's missing two of the guys he had with him inside."

"So?" Gemma asked.

"Hold on," Tig snapped his fingers. "They left early, right after the first round. I saw 'em go."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, right around the same time-,"

"Jackie-boy," Chibs realized. "Mother of Christ."

"That'd be my guess," Bobby said. "They're after all the weak links tonight; first Mags, now the boys."

"Holy shit!" Gemma hissed. "We gotta go after 'em."

"We'll handle it," Bobby said.

"You and Maggie get outta here, we've got this, mother," Tig said, already jogging off toward the fleet of parked bikes.

"You sure you're okay?" Chibs asked Maggie, turning and walking backwards in front of her.

"I'm fine," she waved him off. "Go get my cousin."

"Aye."

***

Time seemed to stand still. Jax held his breath as he watched the flaming book of matches fall through the air, turning once, twice, three times…

The instant the flame hit the grass, the field came to life with a hiss and _WHOOSH _as fire exploded in an upward shaft that sent Jax and his gun-wielding attacker toppling backward. Jax landed on top of the man and the glow from the blaze cast enough light that he could see to fling an elbow back into the guy's ribcage, earning a grunt. The other man was bigger, but Jax had the upper hand, and he knew it was only a matter of moments before he lost the advantage. He rolled over and made a scramble for the gun his attacker had dropped.

Across the field, Opie watched the pattern he and Jax had carefully poured come to life with a roar, the flames spreading from Jax's end and racing to the edges of the symbol.

"What the fuck?" the gunman behind him wondered.

Opie thought he recognized the voice, but couldn't quite place it. He contemplated running, but knew he couldn't outrun a bullet. He'd left his BB gun with their bag of supplies and was weaponless save for his lighter and can of lighter fluid…

His thoughts came to a screeching halt and he retraced his mental steps. If he could do it fast enough, he might be able to splash his attacker with enough kerosene to light him up. It was worth a shot.

Jax finally spotted the Sig and made a dive for it, sliding across the dewy grass and colliding with the other man's boots. His assailant had gotten back to his feet and kicked him in the shoulder. Hard. Jax was flipped over onto his back and the chunky sole of a work boot dug into his throat, pressing against the soft skin until his windpipe was closed off.

He kicked and twisted, bucked and tried to walk his lower torso away, but was pinned at the neck. He grabbed the man's boot with both hands but didn't have enough leverage to shove it away. He gasped and the foot dug in harder, preventing him from drawing another breath. His vision blurred and was filled with dozens of tiny black spots. He saw the dark, masked figure towering over him and hated that his last sight would be of some asshole choking him to death.

Then, to Jax's shock and amazement, his attacker's head jerked forward awkwardly on his neck and he collapsed, landing in an unconscious heap beside him. Jax shoved the limp boot away and scrambled to his feet, sucking in lungfuls of delicious oxygen.

"You okay, kid?" a distinctive Scottish accent questioned.

Jax blinked his eyes back into focus and registered Chibs' profile backlit by the dwindling fire. The lighter fluid was rapidly being burned into oblivion, leaving a black, crispy insignia behind.

"Jackie-boy," Chibs put a hand on the side of his neck, shaking him gently. "You alright?"

Jax nodded. "What happened?" he asked, voice a little rough from being choked.

"Nords," Chibs said angrily. "One of 'em tried to go after Maggie after the fight. We realized that asshole Darby was a few men short and figured they'd come after you and Opie."

"Maggie?" Jax felt his chest constrict. "What…who…is she a'ight?"

"Aye. I put the fucker in a coma."

The Scotsman's voice held so much venom, so much loathing for the creep who'd tried to hurt Maggie that it took Jax by surprise. He shot a glance across the field and in the dwindling plumes of flame he spotted two dark figures kicking and punching someone on the ground. "Ope?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"He and Tig are finishing off the other one. There was a third guy at the van holding a gun on Piney. We took care of that one too."

Jax drew another painful breath and pulled his mask completely off his head. Chibs just stood there quietly, letting him catch his breath, letting him wrap his head around everything that had happened. He glanced at the Scotsman and the shadowy scars across his cheeks, weighing the pros and cons of the scrapper. If he was honest with himself, he wouldn't want Maggie to be with anyone. She was his surrogate big sister, and the thought of anyone hurting or corrupting her made him sick. But in light of the fact that Chibs had saved not only his ass, but Maggie's made things a little more clear to Jax.

As the fire waned, so did his anger.

"You ready to get out of here?"

Jax nodded, taking one more steadying breath. "Hey, Chibs?" he called as the Scot turned to go. "I appreciate it," he said, hoping the older man read the gratitude in all the ways he intended.

Chibs gave him a half smile and extended a hand. "My pleasure…brother."

Jax clasped his hand and shook it hard. "Yeah. Brother."

***

Maggie stepped out of her bathroom, massaging the snarls out of her unwashed hair. The night's excitement had left her tired and fretful, ready to slide between the sheets and let sleep take her the moment her eyes fluttered shut.

When she rounded the corner into her bedroom, she managed a sleepy smile for the Scotsman leaned back against her pillows. She supposed that if she was a good girlfriend, she'd make a sexy show of stepping out of her lounge pants and show him a little rowdy appreciation for saving her life that night. But instead she slid under the covers and snuggled up against his bare chest, sighing deeply at the feel of his skin against hers. He circled an arm around her, settling his hand on her hip, pulling her closer.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?" his accent seemed lighter, softer, like maybe he was just as tired.

"Oh nothing," she said. "Just saving me from a little Nord-induced tumble."

His hand moved, skimming his fingers up her bare arm. "Just doing my job, luv."

"Job?" she craned her head up to gauge his face.

He twitched a tired smile for her. "Well, if I've got Jackie-boy's approval, I better take good care of you I guess."

She grinned, a sense of wholeness flooding through her. It had been a long time coming, but peace had settled over her finally. It felt good. "Jax is okay with you?" she asked.

"Called me 'brother' and everything," he assured.

She kissed his bare chest and resettled against him, eyes closed and lips curled upward. Jax was over his baby crap – her family was back to normal. Plus one.

***

Chibs hit the MUTE button on the remote. It was early and Maggie was still asleep, reminding him that he should have been too. It was Sunday and his muscles were spent from the _three _fights he'd encountered the night before, but his eyes had snapped open at six like an eager kid at Christmas time. He figured it had something to do with the anticipation of the local news broadcast he quickly found.

There was a slim female reporter in a red suit on the screen, her blond bob slicked back to reveal big bangle earrings. She had a grave, professional expression on her face. Chibs recognized the empty stretch of field over her shoulder as the high school's football field.

He couldn't hear the report, but he didn't need to. The camera feed switched to an aerial shot that had most likely been taken from the roof of the school. Black and burned, sixty yards wide, as distinct and unmistakable as a tattoo was a giant swastika in the middle of the field.

Chibs tried to choke it back, but he couldn't. He burst into raucous, Scottish laughter and Maggie soon joined him. Her hair was sticking up in all direction. She had dark circles under her eyes.

"What's so funny?" she asked around a yawn.

"Your damn cousin," he said, waving at the TV with the remote.

She squinted at the screen and then gasped in delight when she realized what she was looking at. "I can't believe they pulled it off," she said with a chuckle. "Oh man, that's fucking awesome!"

The feed switched again to a shot that had been taken outside a house. Ernest Darby stood in the partially open doorway, trying to block the camera with a raised hand. His swastika tat plainly visible. The caption at the bottom of the screen read _Local Fascists Linked to School Vandalism. _

Chibs stretched a hand over the back of the couch for her to slap. "That was a mighty fine idea you had, Miss Margaret."

"What can I say?" she smacked her palm against his. "It runs in the family."

***

**Three Weeks Later**

"That's your _third _candy bar," Gemma said with no small amount of disgust.

"What?" Maggie asked around a mouthful of Milky Way. "I skipped breakfast."

The cousins were seated in the T-M office, elbow-deep in last year's invoices that hadn't been settled. All the Sons were in Utah on a run that involved the Salt Lake charter and Gemma and Maggie had the place to themselves. The garage was deceptively quiet despite the lack of man power. No club meant no club business, just good old boring care repair.

Maggie polished off her candy bar and checked the clock for at least the fifteenth time in the past hour.

:"Oh for God's sake," Gemma rolled her eyes with a smirk. "Looking at the clock doesn't make tonight come any faster."

"I know," Maggie sighed. "But I miss the boys."

"I know, baby," her cousin consented. "I do too."

The past few weeks had been good, very good. Jax seemed, as if by pure magic, to have let all his animosity with Chibs slide. He still seemed a bit awkward around the two of them, but he at least wasn't shooting daggers with his eyes anymore. Clay and Gemma seemed likewise to approve of the match and Tig was even attempting to hold up his end of the 'being nice' bargain. The post-holiday season was always one of Maggie's favorites; a chance to kick back a little after the Christmas and New Year's rush. She hardly spent the night alone anymore. If Chibs wasn't at her place, she was with him at the clubhouse. Being on her own the past several days had her lonely…and horny. She wanted her Scotty dog back.

A soft knock sounded at the door. One of the regular mechanics, Jake, stood in the open doorway of the office, looking a little wary of just barging in with the two biker women. "Someone here to see you, Maggie," he announced.

She set her current invoice down slowly, glancing curiously at Gemma.

The Queen just arched curious eyebrows. "What? You order a gigolo?"

"Ha ha," Maggie griped, rising and going to the door. "Who is it?" she asked Jake.

He stepped aside and motioned toward a woman leaning back against a dark blue F150.

Her hair looked a little lighter and shorter, more matronly, but her face was the same. And the truck was unmistakable. Maggie remembered peering over the dash, straining to see the traffic cones when she'd taken her driving exam. She swallowed the anxious lump that had formed in her throat.

"What's the matter?" Gemma came up behind her. The older woman glanced out toward the visitor and hissed a sigh. "Aww shit," she muttered.

"I know," Maggie groaned. "God, I didn't think she'd actually come."

"Actually come? What, did you talk to her?"

Maggie bit her lip, embarrassed. "She left me several messages earlier in the week, said we needed to talk, but…"

Gemma sighed. "Well, we might as well get it over with. Come on." She pushed Maggie gently forward and they headed across the lot, a united front as they approached the soft-looking blond in high-waist jeans and Keds.

The woman looked up as they approached, started to smile, but the expression fell short.

When they were close enough to reach out and brush hands, Maggie felt her boots come to a grinding halt, unable to close the distance and offer a hug. She pulled in a deep, quivering breath, and forced herself to make eye contact with the woman. "Hi…Mom."

***

Diane Lawson had married into the tougher-than-nails, get kicked and get back up family that had spawned Gemma. She was a mid-westerner and wanted nothing to do with sunny California and the leather-clad bikers her niece by marriage chose to take up with. It had been a hard blow therefore, when her daughter left home and set out for Charming, choosing the very life that she'd warned her against since childhood.

Maggie had never thought of her mother as a weak person when she still lived in Flagstaff, but here, under the sharp north Cali sunshine, she looked pale and doughy and nothing like the statuesque Gemma Teller-Morrow.

Maggie folded her arms in an unconscious act of defense. "Why are you here, Mom? Where's Dad?"

"Oh," Diane frowned, accentuating the wrinkles that were starting to form around her lips. "Nice to see you too, Maggie. Gemma," she said stiffly, nodding toward her niece.

"Diane," Gemma returned just as coldly.

"Did you get any of my messages?" Diane asked.

Maggie shrugged. "Some of them. I haven't had a chance to call you yet."

"Sorry to inconvenience you with phone calls, I'm sure you had your hands full stepping and fetching for the Hells Angels here."

Maggie opened her mouth for a retort but Gemma beat her to the punch. "If you've got something to say, then say it, Diane. We've had this same goddamn conversation a hundred times and I haven't got time to stand here and listen to you berate my cousin. Spit it out."

Diane was appalled, but hid it with another frown and shake of her head. "Fine," she said. "If you'd bothered to pick up the phone you'd know that your father's heart condition is worse and the doctors think he needs a specialist."

"What do you mean, worse?" Maggie asked. She knew that her father had inherited the 'family flaw', the genetic weakness of the heart that she herself had; same as Gemma. "Back during the summer you said-,"

"He's worse, Maggie," Diane said, voice softening a little. "Paul, that old fraternity brother of his is some big shot cardio-thoracic surgeon in Seattle. He had a spot on his patient list and accepted your father."

"Seattle?" Gemma asked. "Jesus, Di, why didn't you call _me_?"

Maggie raked her hands through her hair, suddenly light-headed. "Is he with you? Are you guys on your way now?" she asked, voice sounding a little high-pitched.

"No," Diane sighed. "He's been up there for two days now, took a flight up there Sunday. I'm following the movers in the truck."

Maggie staggered back a step, a hand going to the lump in her throat. Her father had been sick years ago, before she left home, but never like this, never so severe that he had to move to a different state. Her mother had packed up their house and was _moving_, leaving the place she'd called home for thirty years.

The wave of guilt that rolled over her threatened to bring tears to her eyes. She'd listened to her mother's worried, fretful voice on her answering machine and chalked it up to typical Diane; always disapproving of her daughter's choices. Instead, she'd been terrified for her husband's life. And she couldn't even take ten minutes to call her back.

"We didn't sell the house," Diane explained. "Not yet anyway. We're hoping Paul can help him and that we can go back home."

"What if he can't…help him?"

"Then I guess we'll be in Seattle longer than I had hoped."

Maggie pressed her eyes closed and inhaled, letting the information find a place to settle in her mind.

"I'm not asking you to come," Diane said. "I just wanted to make sure you knew before he went into surgery."

"Surgery?" Maggie asked, voice nearly gone. "Oh God, Mom, I didn't…I mean…I had no idea…"

"It's alright," Diane sighed, making it sound anything but. She opened the Ford's door with a metallic creak, not meeting her or Gemma's stares. "I'm not staying here – have reservations in a hotel in Oregon. Should be in Seattle tomorrow."

Maggie nodded, watching her mother climb into the old truck. Gemma put an arm around her shoulders.

"Don't get all weepy on me, girl," she said as the Ford grumbled to life. "Lawsons don't cry if someone ain't dead yet."

Maggie nodded, watching her mother pull out of the T-M lot. "The only person in my life who's an absolute stranger," she whispered. "My mother."

**TBC**


	16. The Ride Up

**AN: I never intended for this story to be so freaking long! I'm hoping that I can wrap things up with a few more long chapters like this one, but things have just taken longer to hash out than I thought. I don't figure anybody minds though! In light of season two's developments, I thought about changing some things up, but decided against it. I'm going to finish the story as planned without any revisions.**

**As usual, let me know what you think!**

**Chapter 16: The Ride Up**

Chibs had never seen nor been a part of anything quite so powerful as SAMCRO's procession through Charming. He had marveled at their reflections in the plate glass front of Floyd's Barber Shop on the way out of town three days before, amazed to see himself as a part of the thundering herd of motorcycles. The sun was below the horizon now, the sky just a dark mass brushed with orange along the tree line, but he still glimpsed their images in the store fronts. The combined roar of tailpipes echoed off the concrete buildings along Main Street.

Every man, woman and child along the strip looked at them. Some scowled, a few brave souls tossed up a friendly hand, but most just flitted a passive glance toward the double row of bikers. Whether disapproving or indifferent, everyone in Charming noticed the Sons.

Clay was up at the front of the line; the head of the spear. Otto and Tig flanked him, the VP and Sgt at Arms respectively. Then Bobby and Piney, Jax and Opie, and finally Chibs in the very rear.

This had been his first run with the entire charter. He loved riding alone, feeling the wind twist his hair and pull at his jeans, loved watching the empty pavement rush up to his front tire. But riding in formation brought a whole new kind of thrill. The power of the machines grew exponentially when they travelled together, and there was a certain risk associated with riding so close beside your brother. If one bike went down, they all might very well crash to the pavement, so precision and skill became essential. It was a little boost to his ego, having enough control of his bike to ride along gracefully with the rest of them.

By the time they turned it at the T-M gates, the sunset had bled its colors into indigo blue and night had descended fully. Light spilled out of the open doorway of the club and flames licked up off the grill; the welcome home party already in full swing. Male hang-arounds in wannabe biker garb and Crow Eaters crowded the property, beers upraised in salute to the returning Sons.

Chibs backed his FXR in alongside Jax's and killed the engine, the world becoming far quieter. He dangled his helmet off the handlebars and tried to ruffle up his flattened, dark hair. Maggie was used to the life and never complained about him coming home covered in road dust, smelling of last night's whiskey and cigarette smoke. But she was always clean and tidy. He figured it was only a matter of time before she came to her senses and traded him in for someone more appropriate; he figured he might be able to slow that process if his helmet hair wasn't quite so noticeable.

"Dude," Jax made a face as he climbed off his bike. He looked a bit bowlegged. "Talk about saddle sore," he grumbled.

"Quit your whinin'," Chibs knocked him lightly on the arm. "No way for the little prince to talk."

The younger man snorted as they walked towards the clubhouse. "Yeah? Well this _little prince _is takin' a hot bath and a whole goddamn bottle of Advil. Longest ride of my fuckin' life."

"Ditto that," Opie agreed with a wince. "I can't feel my ass anymore." He turned and tried to look over his shoulder as he walked, checking to see that his ass was in fact still there.

The Crow Eaters descended when they reached the overhang of the clubhouse roof. Blondes and brunettes, redheads and combinations of all three met them with hungry hands and empty eyes, all looking to snag a piece of SAMCRO by the cock. They no doubt enjoyed a good lay, but these women were after something more – security. All hoped that one of the Sons would come to his senses one day and realize that he just couldn't live without Rita or Heather or Gypsy or whatever the hell her name was. That had never, not once in SAMCRO history, happened. And they knew it, which made them all the more desperate.

A tall, solidly built woman with short dark hair and a painted-on dress hooked a hand in the crook of Chibs' elbow, sidling up beside him as he walked. "Hey, baby, long day?" she drawled, leaning into him.

He recognized her as one of the ones he'd earned a little hospitality from before he'd hooked up with Maggie. He couldn't remember her name and didn't want to.

"Not that long, sweetheart," he said, easing her hand away from him.

She pouted for half a second then shrugged and moved on, making a go at Otto.

Chibs looked up and saw Maggie leaned back against one of the porch's steel support columns, arms crossed and mouth pinched up in what he guessed to be displeasure. "Hey, luv," he said almost warily as he approached her. "You miss me?" he teased.

She didn't smile. Didn't even crack a grin. She stared at the toes of her chunky biker boots and sighed, running her fingers in unconscious patterns across the big silver cross around her neck.

He frowned when she didn't look up and reached to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "What's wrong, baby? You know I didn't want anythin' to do with that woman…"

She looked up and offered him a ghost of a smile. "It's not about that," she assured. "I just had a…strange day is all."

"What happened?" He stepped closer to her until there was just an inch between them.

She smoothed a hand down the front of his cut and stared at his chest without really seeing it, her eyes glazed with a faraway look. "My-," she started to say and was cut off by Clay's booming voice.

"Chibs!" the President called. "Get your ass in here!"

Chibs glanced up and saw the rest of the Sons grouped around the door of the clubhouse. To his surprise, Michael McKeevy was with them.

He looked back at Maggie and she nodded him away. "Go," she said, sounding tired. "I'll see you in a bit."

***

Once inside the clubhouse, Chibs paused at the door of the Chapel. Prospects weren't allowed to sit in on actual church sessions, but Clay nodded him in anyway. "Urgent business that involves the whole club," the President explained when Chibs arched questioning brows at him.

The room was a long rectangle with glass walls on three sides, all of which were covered with closed horizontal blinds at the moment. The solid, redwood table in the center was intricately carved with the Sons of Anarchy reaper, and ringed with eight leather chairs.

All the patch holders took up their regular posts and Clay waved for Chibs to pull up an extra chair down at the end beside Piney. McKeevy stood along the back wall, hands braced behind him on the wood paneling behind him.

"Seeing as how I'm shit tired, this isn't a formal meeting, and our Irish friend makes Chibs' presence necessary," Clay began.

"Let's make this quick," Tig grumbled. "There is some seriously fine ass out there waiting on me."

Bobby nodded his agreement.

"Alright, Michael," Clay fired a look at McKeevy. "You heard 'em."

McKeevy sucked in a breath that seemed almost to cause him physical pain and cleared his throat before he began. "I was supposed to head back to Ireland yesterday," he said. "But I got a call from one of my contacts back home who told me I was to 'stay put' until things were finalized."

"What things?" Otto asked, turning in his chair to see the Irishman better.

"There's been some dissent amongst the Cause. Power's shifting, going into new hands."

"What do you mean 'new hands'?" Chibs blurted. Some of the Sons gave him odd looks as if they thought he'd spoken out of turn, but no one reprimanded him. He was the one most familiar with the Irish and was now their primary IRA contact. "I thought Patrick-,"

"Patrick's gone," McKeevy said heavily.

"Dead?" Chibs asked.

"Aye. Three says ago."

"What does that mean?" Bobby asked. "Patrick's the one who's been most interested in dealing with us. Some of your…_friends_…aren't too keen on American MC business."

"I know," McKeevy said. "I don't know who's going to take over, but rumor has it he's a mean son of a bitch. He was pissed when he heard we had a Scottish agent inside a Yank organization," he said, aiming a look at Chibs.

The Scotsman felt his brows jump up into his hairline.

Clay smacked a palm down onto the table top. "Whoa, hold on a sec," his forehead pulled down in aggravation. "What the fuck do you mean by agent? I thought you said he wanted in on his own," he said, waving a hand in Chibs' general direction.

"See, I knew this was bad," Tig shook his head. "You goddamn Irish-,"

"I _did _come to you on my own," Chibs insisted. "I'm not an agent, just a go-between."

Clay scowled and looked to McKeevy for confirmation.

"It's true. Filip wanted out and I turned him loose. But the new boss isn't going to like that."

"If you don't know what the fuck's going on, why'd you come to us?" Otto wanted to know.

"Preserve the alliance," McKeevy said as if it were obvious. "I know SAMCRO is a reliable client and I'll need your help convincing the new 'management'."

"And if they can't be convinced?" Clay asked. "The IRA isn't exactly known for its subtlety when it comes to dealing with threats."

"Yeah, what's gonna keep you guys from blowing the shit outta us?" Tig asked.

"I'm sure they'll send a rep to meet you and Chibs, get to know the club," McKeevy shrugged. "After that, I don't know what to tell you."

Clay frowned. "Gee, Mikey, so glad you could interrupt our evening for that bright and shiny piece of news."

"Sorry, lads," the Irishman offered.

Clay blew out a tired breath. "Alright. We'll deal with that shit when it starts to stink. You keep us posted," he aimed a finger at McKeevy.

He nodded and the others pushed back their chairs, the sounds of boots on hardwood filing the little room.

McKeevy put a hand on Chibs' shoulder as everyone filed out into the clubhouse where the party was now in full swing. "A minute?" he asked.

Chibs caught Clay's glance and the President nodded.

"Aye. Let's go outside."

***

"What's this really about?" Chibs asked once they were halfway across the parking lot. He dug a cigarette out of his cut and lit up, inhaling the first lungful of smoke like it was the breath of life. The night had brought a damp coldness to it and his bare arms shivered and were covered in goose flesh.

McKeevy sighed. "I dunno, and that's the truth. I've been in the States too long to really know how rough things have become over there."

Chibs nodded and stared down at his boots. If McKeevy really was clueless, then there was some other reason he'd brought him out here. He waited.

"Filip," he said at last. "When they come to meet the club, they'll wanna know that their contact is loyal."

Chibs spit on the pavement. "I've always been loyal. Everyone knows that."

McKeevy shrugged. "Still…don't give them any reason to think you're a liability."

Chibs snorted. "Really? And how do I do that?"

Again the Irishman shrugged. "Dunno." He scratched at his thinning hair absently and was silent for a moment. "I hear you've got a girl," he said after a while. "One of Clay's relatives?"

"His wife's cousin," Chibs said, narrowing his eyes. "Why?"

McKeevy shook his head as he started to walk away. "Just curious is all. Think about what I said, lad." Then he turned and headed off through the dark parking lot.

Chibs watched him fade into the shadows and finished his cigarette, thinking, but not knowing, that something worse than a simple take-over was happening in Ireland.

***

She had gone into Chibs' dorm room with the intention of sitting at the little desk and flipping through a magazine until the unexpected church meeting let out. She was surprised, therefore, when her eyes snapped open at the feel of a hand on her ass. Her eyes had that heavy-lidded, gritty feel to them from the short, uncomfortable nap, but she realized that she was on her side on Chibs' bed, facing the far wall.

The mattress springs squeaked as someone settled in behind her. An arm circled her waist and she slid her fingers over his, recognizing them at once.

"I wasn't going to wake you," Chibs said quietly.

She smiled. "Yes you were. You've been gone almost a week and you were going to let me sleep?" She rolled over, coming face-to-face with him and realized that his grin completely belied the patience in his voice.

"Well," he shrugged with his eyebrows. "I coulda had my fun while you were asleep, but that's a bit trickier. Since you're up…"

She socked him playfully in the chest, not putting much force behind the blow. "Jerk. Would it kill you bikers boys to do something romantic every once in a while? Flowers? Candy? Sappy shit of any kind?"

"You can't stand that shit and you know it," he said, tightening his arm around her and pulling her into a kiss. He let his lips become familiar with hers again and then trailed the kiss down her jaw line, nipped at her earlobe and then ventured down her throat.

She had been planning on telling him about her mother's impromptu visit and all the doubt and uncertainty it had brought her that day, but when he eased her sweater off her shoulder and nibbled at the tender flesh she melted. She gripped handfuls of his shirt and shifted positions as he rolled over on top of her. Almost a week had been too long and she arched her back, moving her hips upward and grinding against him, letting him know what she wanted.

But he was intent on going slow, torturing her. He removed her clothes an inch at a time, tasting and caressing each new patch of exposed skin. When he finally drove inside her, she felt as if she were on fire. She came quickly and he sat up in the bed, pulling her with him. He leaned back and she straddled him, hands on his shoulders, head thrown back as she steered them into the next climax. His hands were clasped around her hips so tight he left bruises, and the hair on his chin was rough against her breasts. He urged her on, murmuring deep-throated encouragements that she couldn't exactly make out but didn't need to. His body told her that she was doing everything just right.

When both were finally satisfied for the moment, Chibs stretched out on his back and pulled her down onto his chest. They were silent for a while, both trying to catch their breath.

Maggie settled her head against his shoulder and slid her palm across his chest. His skin was just as slick as hers. His hair was full of grit and sand from the road and smelled of smoke but she didn't care. It was part of the whole package; part of what distinguished him from her. His masculinity made her feel more feminine than ever before and the contrast was intoxicating.

The sweat eventually cooled and dried and he pulled the sheet over them when goosebumps erupted across her flesh. "What had you so worried earlier?" he asked, the roughness of his voice eased with fatigue.

She sighed and watched her fingers draw aimless circles across his chest. Her excitement at his touch was traded for the cluster of unhappy emotions the day had brought her and she hesitated in telling him. It would only make him worry for her and she didn't want him distracted from the club during his tenuous prospect period.

"Baby," he tried again. "You know you can tell me."

"I know," she let out a heavy breath and continued to draw patterns on his skin. "My mother came by the shop today, just popped in out of nowhere."

He was quiet, giving her time to pull her thoughts together.

"My dad's sick…again. He has the infamous Lawson 'family flaw'. Congenital heart defect – leads to early heart disease. Nasty shit. He had a couple of stints put in years ago but Mom says he's worse…a lot worse. She moved him to a specialist in Seattle."

"This was the first you've heard about it?"

Her eyes felt suddenly hot and she batted her lashes against the forming tears. "Well…not really. Mom left me half a dozen messages earlier in the week, but I didn't think much of it. She gets like that sometimes, all worried and shit. I should have called her back…"

"It's not your fault, you didn't know," he soothed when her voice cracked. He rubbed her back soothingly. "You live in a whole different state. You can't be expected to know everything."

"Don't give me an easy out," she sniffed. "I should be more involved, communicate better. I should have called Mom back. He's going into surgery tomorrow and I didn't even know he was sick, Chibs! What the hell kind of daughter am I?!"

"Easy, luv, you're alright," he assured when her tears finally came. He held her and stroked her back and arm until she regained her composure.

"Jesus, all I ever do is cry all over you," she said, embarrassed.

"It's the whole Scottish thing," he joked. "Get's the girls all weepy."

She coughed a chuckle. "Oh yeah. So hot."

She fell silent again and the question that had leapt to his mind the instant she mentioned the family illness couldn't be held back any longer. "Maggie…this 'family flaw'…do you…?"

"Yeah," she said softly. "I have it. Gem too. Docs think I'll lead a normal life so long as I don't cause myself any undue stress."

"Oh Lord," he muttered. "Well, I've been _really _helpful with that."

"No, silly," he could almost hear her eyes roll. "Hot sex isn't going to kill me. And I'm young. I don't have anything to worry about yet."

"Because you know," he said thoughtfully. "If it's dangerous to your health, I've always got other options."

"No you don't," she said with a sigh. "Ass."

He chuckled softly and she let her eyes flutter shut. She had been sleepy before and crying had made it worse. His chest rose and fell under her now still hand, a steady lullaby. She was just entering that fuzzy, pre-sleep stage when he said her name.

"Maggie," he nearly whispered, not wanting to wake her if she'd fallen asleep.

"Hmm?"

"If you're worried about your father…maybe you should go see him. If you want to."

"You trying to get rid of me?"

"I said _visit_,not relocate."

She sighed. "You think I should go?"

"I think it would make you feel better about the whole thing." He brushed a hand through her hair, loving how soft and girlish it felt sliding through his fingers. She didn't dye it and it wasn't all dry and brittle like that of the girls who hung around with the Salt Lake charter. The thought of her going away made him slightly sick to his stomach, but it wasn't as if he'd been tied to her. He'd been in Utah for days and she'd been stuck at the garage – he wasn't going to begrudge her a visit to her sick, possibly dying father. Coming between a daughter and her family had only earned him heartache in the past anyway.

"His surgery's tomorrow afternoon," Maggie said quietly. "It's a hell of a long ride to Washington, but I might be there by the time he comes out of recovery."

"You won't go alone," he said.

"No, Gem will come. And Clay won't let us travel unprotected. He'll set up a relay."

Chibs nodded in the dark. She needed this, needed to absolve some of the guilt she had over leaving home. "Do you need to call Gemma?"

"In a little while," her voice was thick with sleep. "Just let me rest my eyes a minute."

"Aye. I'll wake you in a while."

She drifted off in a handful of moments, her breathing relaxing to a steady rhythm. Chibs held her and stared at the ceiling. He didn't like her to be troubled like this; it brought up too many old, familiar memories of an unhappy time with his old Maggie. Back then, the only solid thing had been the fact that they had one another. He didn't want things to be that way with his SAMCRO Maggie; one or both of them victim to personal demons.

He wondered idly if maybe he wasn't doomed to a life without a lasting moment of happiness. But she sighed and snuggled closer to him in her sleep and he pushed those thoughts away. _Live in the moment and worry about the shit when it hits the fan _he told himself.

But a sadness had settled over him that night in the dorm room, almost as if he knew what was to come. Still, he wouldn't have traded the course of events for one less painful.

***

"You got an extra sweater?" Gemma called from the doorway to the bedroom. "Hospitals are always cold as a witch's tit."

Maggie stood from her position over her suitcase and tucked her hair behind her ears and out of her face. She did a quick scan of the bag's contents. Toiletries, jeans, sweatpants, socks, undies…She snagged a black hooded sweatshirt off the footboard of her bed, knowing by the smell of cigarettes that it was Chibs' and not hers and packing it anyway. He wouldn't mind and it would be a nice little reminder of home.

It was 4:52 a.m. and her brain was addled from just a couple hours of sleep and trepidation over the trip. What if her dad didn't make it through surgery? What if her mother didn't want her there after all? What if Diane and Gemma got in a huge cat fight in the middle of the waiting room? Her gut twisted painfully from the stress and she swallowed down the nausea that had plagued her since she'd crawled out of Chibs' bed at two o' clock.

Gemma had been awake and already thinking that Maggie would want to go. She'd swung by the clubhouse, picked up her cousin, and taken her back to her apartment so she could shower and pack.

The Queen was dressed in jeans, heels, and a black button-up over a white tank top, her hair piled up uncharacteristically on her head in a clip. She stepped into the room and pulled Maggie's bag across the floor, checking it herself to be sure her cousin hadn't missed anything. "You wanna take something for the ride? Book? Music?"

Maggie nodded and took a deep breath, fighting the urge to gag. She was on autopilot, not really thinking about the task at hand. She grabbed a fistful of cassette tapes off her bookshelf and a worn, paper-back copy of _'Salem's Lot_. Reading about vampires and other ungodly King creations always made her own life seem a little less horrible. She'd read the book at least a dozen times but it would be a familiar distraction. She chucked the items in on top of her clothes and zipped up the bag. Gemma took it from her and steered her gently towards the door.

"It'll be alright, baby," she assured. "One step at a time."

The sun still had at least two hours before it rose and it was black as pitch outside. Chibs and Jax stood under the streetlamp in the parking lot, smoking and leaning back against their bikes. Both tossed their cigarettes to the pavement as the women approached the Firebird.

Jax loaded Maggie's bag into the car and then gave his mother and cousin a kiss on the cheek, adding a one-armed, supportive hug for Maggie.

Chibs was a little shocked at how pale and fragile she looked as he wrapped both arms around her. She didn't seem to be the same girl who'd ridden him with reckless abandon just hours before. She slid her hands under his cut and around his waist, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

"He's gonna be alright, luv," he told her, hoping it was true.

She swiped at her eyes and nodded as she pulled back. He put a hand to the side of her face and steered her gently into a kiss. Then Gemma had her hands on her shoulders and was pulling her back towards the car. Maggie was like a zombie and Gemma helped her into the Firebird and closed the door for her.

She sighed heavily when she walked back to the guys. "She's pretty fucked up over this," she said with a slow shake of her head. "That bitch Diane's always tried to guilt her into thinking she's a bad kid. Makes me so damn mad…" she sighed. "Anyway, tell Clay I'll call when we get there," she told Jax.

"Be careful," Jax said, giving her another quick peck on the cheek.

To Chibs' surprise, the Queen pulled him into a brief hug. "Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" he asked as she pushed back and held him at arm's length with a hand on each of his shoulders.

"For looking after our baby girl," she said, voice suddenly a little thick. She gave him a pat on the arm and then retreated toward the car. "Come on, boys," she called. "Tank and Hustle will beat us to the checkpoint if we don't get a move on."

Chibs swung a leg over his FXR and fired up the bike. Jax did the same beside him and they pulled out behind the Firebird, riding double behind the car as they hit Main Street.

Clay had called the Oregon and Tacoma charters, setting up what he called a 'protection relay' for his women. Chibs and Jax would escort them to the state line where two members of the Oregon charter would take over. Happy and his crew would meet them when they hit Washington and take them all the way to Seattle.

The two bikes and the muscle car roared through the slumbering town, no doubt waking a few civilians and making them question yet again why they'd chosen to live in a town ruled by an outlaw MC.

***

Sunlight was pouring in through the windshield when Maggie snapped awake in the passenger seat. "Where are we?" she asked, wiping the grit from her eyes.

"I woke you," Gemma explained. "We're just about to be handed off."

Maggie felt something like desperation as she twisted around her seat to peer through the back window. She saw Jax and Chibs riding behind them but realized they were dropping back. Two strange Harleys pulled out of a side street and took up flanking positions on the car. Maggie recognized one of the Oregon members, Hustle, from a club bash last year, and guessed the other must be Tank.

She saddened when Jax and Chibs fell back even more, letting the Oregon bikers move into their slots, then fell away completely, dipping across into the other lane and turning back toward home. She watched them fade to tiny black dots on the horizon and eventually slip away.

When they were gone, Maggie felt bile pushing at the base of her throat and she turned back around with a small moan.

"You okay?" Gemma asked.

Maggie slumped sideways in her seat, letting her forehead rest against the hot window glass. "Just nerves and car sickness," she groaned.

"Wonderful combination," Gemma muttered. She held her cigarette between clenched teeth and dug around through the center armrest console, coming out with a cassette. "Maybe this'll help," she said, sliding it into the car's tape player.

There was a soft hiss of cassette static followed by the opening chords of "Purple Haze".

"Go back to sleep if you want, baby," Gemma urged.

"You don't want to switch off on the driving?"

"No. Get some rest."

Maggie nodded and leaned back against the headrest. She closed her eyes and missed the worried look her cousin shot her. When she slipped back to sleep, she had nightmares about Chibs crashing his bike on the way back to Charming. She tossed in the passenger seat and Gemma hummed along with Hendrix, trying to pretend there was nothing wrong with her little cousin.

***

It was six when they made the switch-off with the Tacoma charter. They stopped at a roadside, greasy-spoon cliché diner and had dinner with Happy and one of his prospects; a nervous looking kid named Glen.

Maggie had always liked the darkly-tan Tacoma VP but couldn't seem to work up so much as a smile for him. He and Gemma chatted casually about the goings on in Charming and Maggie stared at her patty melt and soggy fries.

"Eat up," Happy urged with a raspy chuckle. "You're wasting away, girl."

She frowned and took a bite of the sandwich, her stomach already twisting. She choked down half of it and then excused herself to the restroom, one hand over her mouth and one over her stomach.

"What's wrong with her?" Happy asked as she rushed off.

Gemma sighed and scraped her hash browns across her plate with her fork. "This is rough on her," she said. "Got a nervous stomach and car sick to boot."

"She's kinda pale," Glen spoke up, earning an elbow from Happy.

"She's fine," Gemma said firmly, ending the discussion.

***

"What the fuck do you mean the parking lot's closed?" Gemma asked, stabbing her cigarette through the air at the man in the guard shack.

Maggie scooted further down in her seat, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. Gemma was rapidly earning a spot at the top of the hospital security staff's shit list and she wanted no part of it.

The beefy guard sighed and pointed to the sign affixed to the gate arm that read "Lot Closed After 8PM". "You'll have to use the deck across the street, ma'am."

"Across the street my ass!" she snapped. She was running on fumes and this unlucky bastard just happened along at the end of a long day. "You're gonna tell me you'd let two women walk across a four-lane at night?"

He shot a look at the two bikers behind them and raised his eyebrows. "No offense, ma'am, but you hardly look helpless with that lot."

"Gem, please," Maggie said before the Queen could protest again. "I don't wanna pick a fight, let's just go park so we can see Dad."

Gemma sighed and waved through the open window for Happy and Glen to back up. "Fine," she muttered. "Heaven forbid he get off his doughnut eatin' ass and do something chivalrous."

***

Maggie's stomach did yet another somersault when she and Gemma stepped into the waiting room of the cardio wing and saw Diane propped up in an uncomfortable looking chair. She looked up when they entered and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh God," she breathed. "I didn't think you'd come."

All the stress that Maggie had been fighting off all day came coursing out of her eyes in the form of tears as she crossed the room and stepped into her mother's offered hug. She had hardly spoken to the woman in the past four years and she hugged her tightly now, the guilt almost crushing her.

When Diane pushed away, she glanced over her daughter's shoulder and spotted Gemma and the two bikers. "You didn't come alone," she said almost sourly.

"No," Maggie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I brought my family."

Diane sighed and gave her a hard look. "You're a very impossible girl, Maggie," she said. "But I can't tell you how happy I am you're here."

"How's Dad?" Maggie asked, not wanting to go down the maternal disappointment road again.

"Still in recovery. There were some complications."

***

"Okay. Yeah. Yeah. I'll tell 'im." Clay hung up the clubhouse phone and turned around to where Chibs was leaning across the bar, pouring himself another shot of Jack. "Girls made it," he announced. "Gemma said Alan had some problems coming outta surgery but she and Mags got there in one piece."

"Aye, that's good," Chibs said, downing his whiskey and sliding the empty away. He hadn't realized he'd been knocking them back out of nerves. The news of their safe arrival soothed him immeasurably.

"They'll be back in a few days," Clay assured. "Until then, I'm sure Tig's got something in his _collection _you can use for chick-less inspiration later."

Tig nodded emphatically. "I got some good shit, man – makes _Playboy _look like goddamn Golden Books."

Chibs shook his head. He didn't want to know.

"Well," Otto said, trying to draw their gathering to a more official place. "I talked to one of McKeevy's guys earlier and he's scared shitless about the take-over. According to him, whatever's coming is big time bad."

"I still don't know how you're so in the dark about this," Clay put his hands on the bar and leaned across it towards Chibs, eyes narrowing. "You were awfully quiet last night at the table, Scotty."

Chibs shrugged, meeting the President's stare unflinching. "I know what you know," he said. "When I signed on with the club, the intelligence pipeline was shut off from me, probably for good. I'm not one of them anymore, Clay."

The other man snorted. "For your sake, I hope you're right."

**TBC**


	17. Unexpected

**AN: Only two more chapters after this. I was shooting for two more total after the last one, but the end of this needed to be broken up from what happens next.**

**Chapter 17: Unexpected**

"She smells like a bar," Diane said, sounding a bit huffy.

Gemma's lips curled in a not-so-polite frown as she watched her cousin trying to wrestle a Kit-Kat from the stingy vending machine down the hall. It had been a long night for all of them. Gemma's uncle and Maggie's father, Alan, had come through surgery seemingly fine, but a clot had sent the monitors and machines into a screaming frenzy before he'd even come out of recovery. The doctors had been forced to open him back up and the family still hadn't been allowed to see him. They'd slept, or at least tried to in the waiting room, propped up against one another, Happy and his prospect keeping silent watch.

"She borrowed that shirt," Gemma explained of the baggy black sweatshirt Maggie was bundled up in.

Diane gave a disgusted snort. "Jesus Christ…she just can't keep her legs closed, can she?"

Gemma turned a fierce scowl on her aunt. "Don't start that bullshit here," she warned. "He's a good guy."

"What? One of your _bikers_? Don't insult me, Gemma. I know-,"

"Alright," Gemma pushed up her sleeves, not opposed to knocking the older woman a good one if need be. "I've had e-fucking-nough, _Aunt _Diane. _You_ are the only reason Maggie came to Charming," she leaned forward, eyes boring holes into Diane, voice low so Maggie wouldn't hear. "I never had any intentions of pulling her into this life, but she needed me and I couldn't turn her away. The club is my family. If you didn't want her to be a part of that family, maybe you should have tried a little harder to keep her around."

The older woman leaned back, stunned and furious, eyes glazed with moisture.

"Unlike you," Gemma said. "That _biker _takes care of her."

***

Maggie cursed when she couldn't get the wrapper off the candy bar fast enough. She'd puked her brains out the previous day and the hunger was becoming unmanageable. She was tired, shaky, worried about her dad, and for some reason the only thing she could stomach at the moment was chocolate.

"Should I help you before you eat through the wrapper?" Happy's tell-tale smoker's voice sounded beside her and she jumped a bit.

She turned and found him propped up against the mouth of the hallway, hands in the baggy pockets of his jeans. She bit her lip, embarrassed, but handed over the Kit-Kat. "Thanks," she said. "Not only am I absolutely fucking useless in here, but I can't even open up my goddamn breakfast."

He unwrapped it and took a bite before handing it back to her. "Breakfast? I can walk you down to the cafeteria, sweetheart."

She popped off one of the candy bar's sticks and took half of it in one bite. "Naw. My stomach's still all messed up."

She leaned back against the wall and they stood in silence for a moment. She had always liked that about Happy; you never had to chat him up. He wasn't a talker and didn't care if she was either. It surprised her when he finally spoke.

"So…I hear you're pretty cozy with Clay's new prospect."

She managed a lopsided grin at the thought of Chibs. "Yeah."

"That mean you and the killa' are over all that bullshit?"

She gave him a sideways look. Here Tig and Happy, two big bad bikers, had been gossiping about her. _Worse than high school girls _she thought with an internal grin. "Most definitely."

He nodded.

She polished off the Kit-Kat and returned to her seat across from Gemma and her mother, giving Happy a grateful half-hug on the way.

Diane was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue and Gemma sat cross-legged, propped on the armrest of the chair beside her. Maggie gave her cousin a questioning look and Gemma shrugged.

Maggie sighed. Even with her father clinging to life, the two women who had served as her guardians couldn't seem to make things work. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but didn't get the words out when her stomach seized up painfully. She put a hand over her cramped abdominals and sucked in a deep breath, hoping the accompanying nausea would ease up. It didn't. She recognized that familiar, salty taste under her tongue and leapt to her feet.

"Maggie?" her mother asked as she sprinted off.

"Hey-," Happy reached for her as she whizzed past him.

She evaded his grasp and ducked into the bathroom just in time. She pounded open the door of the first stall and vomited up her candy bar. She waited, hands braced against the side of the stall to be sure the retching fit was over, then flushed and stepped over to the sinks.

She rinsed her mouth out with trembling hands and glanced up at her reflection. She looked like a 50s silver screen monster; impossibly pale, dark, sunken eyes. Her hair was stringy and limp from a night spent in a hospital waiting room.

Her stomach churned again and she closed her eyes, willing the sensations away.

She didn't know how long she stood there, but it seemed forever before Gemma shouldered her way into the bathroom. She stood at the door, meeting Maggie's gaze through the mirror. "Mags-," she started.

"I'm fine," Maggie said hoarsely.

Gemma frowned and stepped up behind her. She held a white paper bag in one hand and she pulled a little cardboard box from it. "I hopped on down to the gift shop and picked something up for you," she said, setting the box on the counter.

Maggie glanced at it and felt herself pale further. "This is a-,"

"Pregnancy test," Gemma finished for her.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Maggie held the test stick in unsteady fingers and shook her head in slight shock and horror when she read the result. Three blue lines stared up at her; positive.

"Is it…?" Gemma wondered.

"Yeah," Maggie said quietly.

"Jesus Christ," the Queen groaned. "How'd this happen? He been going bareback?"

Maggie groaned too and set the test stick behind her on the counter before she dropped it. "Only the one time…I think. I don't know!"

Gemma put her hands on her hips, ready to give a long-winded speech about Maggie being old enough to know to use a condom, but didn't have the heart to deliver it when she watched the girl scrub desperately at the tears that were welling up. She usually took her cousin's toughness for granted, but seeing her now, she realized that she was literally falling apart.

"What…what am I gonna do?" Maggie asked, voice cracking. She looked tiny all swallowed up in Chibs' sweatshirt, her dirty hair falling in semi-pale curtains around her face.

Gemma couldn't say what she was supposed to as an "adult". She herself had been in this same position years ago, and she knew in an instant what would happen to Maggie. The girl would never be able to give up the baby, Diane would disown her for good, and she would become a permanent part of the SAMCRO family. She felt a smile tug at her lips at the thought of a little toddler with Maggie's bone structure and a Scottish accent.

She stepped forward and pulled her cousin into a tight embrace. "It'll be okay, baby," she whispered. "I promise."

***

After Maggie let her tears reabsorb into their ducts, she and Gemma returned to the waiting room and found a square, handsome, salt-and-pepper man in a white coat talking to Diane.

"Dad's friend Paul," Maggie whispered an explanation to her cousin as they approached the doctor from the side.

He turned and offered the two of them a straight smile that was unnaturally white for someone of his age. "Maggie," he said with a voice that was the prefect pitch for someone in the medical profession; deep and masculine, but undercut with a softness that would soothe the most jittery of patients. "It's been a long time," he said. "Your mother tells me you're living in California?"

"How's Dad?" Maggie asked, skipping the pleasantries. In the past two days, she'd learned that her father might die and now that she was expecting a little baby Telford. Too much information to digest and still demonstrate a functional politeness.

Paul looked a bit taken aback at the bluntness. Diane's mouth fell open in disdain.

"You'll have to excuse her," Gemma said dryly. "Kid's had a tough week."

***

Chibs stared at the hand he'd laid across the bar. All reds. He sighed and started shuffling through the stack in his hands three at a time.

The stool across from him scraped across the hardwood and he glanced up to see Jax settling onto it. "Solitaire?" the young biker asked with a grin. "Dude, my grandma plays that shit."

Chibs shrugged. "Kinda hard to play Texas Hold 'Em by yourself, lad."

Jax nodded. "Yeah."

It was a quiet night at the clubhouse. Bobby, Clay and Otto were at home. Piney and Kyle were watching football on the console set across the room. Tig had a "date". Chibs had no home to go to, his woman was away, and he was still too agitated by the things McKeevy had said a few days before to sleep.

"You and Tara don't have plans?" he asked after a while.

Jax shrugged. "She's pissed at me…again. She doesn't understand that I have club commitments."

"Aye, Jackie-boy, women want to be at the top of your list. All the time," he finally came across a four of clubs he could play and put it up, returning to his shuffling.

Jax sighed. "Maggie like that?"

Chibs tilted his head in thought. "No," he said. "But she's used to the club."

"I guess."

"You know, Jax," Chibs gave him a serious look over the top of his cards. "The real thing doesn't come along too often. When it does, you have to work at it."

The younger man's face compressed in a thoughtful expression. "With Tara it's like…I don't know…kinda hard to describe. You know?"

"Aye. I know, kid."

Jax pulled a ten of hearts that wasn't seeing any action off its stack and held it up to the light, scrutinizing the card to keep from looking at the Scot when he spoke. "Chibs…I should…I'm sorry," he said softly.

"For what?"

"For being an asshole about…you know…Mags."

"Already forgotten, Jackie-boy," he said, giving the kid a wink.

Jax chuckled. "You know, for a foreigner, you're a'ight."

Chibs felt himself laugh too. He scrapped his game and reshuffled the cards. "Come on, kid, I'll play you a man's game of cards."

***

Two more days in Seattle proved that while Alan would require the assistance of a pace maker and enough pills to plug up a horse each day, he was stable. He was weak, but conscious by the time Maggie and Gemma left, trading jokes with his daughter and niece. Diane gave Maggie that disapproving look of hers when they headed out to the parking lot, Happy and prospect in tow. Maggie couldn't make herself feel guilty though – the only thought on her mind was of the tiny life growing inside her.

Pregnant. The word flashed through her head in a continuous loop like a Times Square running billboard. Pregnant…pregnant…pregnant…

She had never given much thought to being a mother, had never considered it something she wanted. And now here she was knocked up at twenty-two by a Scottish SAMCRO prospect with IRA connections. She had a one bedroom apartment and he had a dorm room at the clubhouse. Neither of them had shit for money. Hell, they hadn't exactly been together long enough to be committed or anything.

But, when she remembered him telling the story about his Scottish Maggie and the baby she'd carried, she couldn't imagine away the pain that had flashed in his eyes. He'd wanted that baby, already loved it even though it wasn't big enough to stretch its mother's belly, and he'd grieved its loss for years.

Twelve hours on the road hadn't made the situation any less frightening though. She sighed heavily and let her head thunk against the window.

"What're you gonna tell him?" Gemma asked softly, nodding toward the rearview mirror. They had made the swap-off with the Oregon boys just a few minutes before and Chibs and Jax now flanked their return to Charming.

Maggie turned to watch the orange-streaked sunset slip past and caught a glimpse of the Scot in the side mirror. She'd been so worried about her father that she hadn't realized how much she'd missed him until she'd laid eyes on him. The backs of her eyes burned with tears she wouldn't allow herself to shed. She wanted out of the car so damn bad – wanted to get the admission over with and then pray that he didn't walk away.

"What _can _I say?" she countered just as quietly. "Hey, baby, I missed you, I'm preggers…damn if those aren't words to make a man bend you back over the pool table."

Gemma snorted. "What then? Pretend you're not? Blame the belly on too much beer?"

"No. I'll tell him…I just…is it selfish that I'm not ready for it to be over?"

"Over?" her cousin took her eyes from the road to shoot her a startled look. "You think he'll skip out on you for this?"

Maggie nodded.

"Oh, baby," Gemma sighed and shook her head, glancing back at the road. "You've still got a _lot _to learn, sweetheart."

***

Chibs and Jax backed their bikes into place and crossed the darkened T-M lot to the Firebird.

Jax hugged his mother and they traded kisses. "Everything go okay here?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes.

Chibs walked around to the opposite side of the car when Maggie didn't get out immediately. She sat sideways, feet on the pavement, hand clenching the armrest of the open door. She stared at the ground, other hand holding her hair off her neck and face.

"Maggie…?" Chibs asked slowly. She didn't look up and he crouched down in front of her. "Hey," he said more softly, hooking a knuckle under her chin and lifting her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed. "What's wrong, luv?"

She reached up and moved his hand away, shaking her head. "We need to talk," she said, voice thick. "Alone."

"Okay." He started to get worried. "I think the fellas wanted to-,"

"No." She shook her head more firmly. "I need to get this off my chest, Chibs. I've gotta…I've gotta…"

She started panting and he pulled her up out of the car. "Okay, okay. Come on, we'll go around the back," he assured. He glanced across the top of the car at Gemma as he steered Maggie toward the clubhouse. The Queen had an odd look on her face; almost sad. She nodded toward Chibs.

"Office will be quieter," she said.

That was a good idea. He doubled back and headed toward the T-M office, starting to grow fretful over the way Maggie was leaning against him so heavily.

***

"Where's Mini-Gem?" Bobby asked when they stepped into the clubhouse.

"She was all freaked out about something," Jax said frowning. He turned to his mother. "I thought Alan was doing better."

"He is," Gemma sighed. "She's just…" she trailed off as Clay entered the room. "Hey, baby," she stepped into his offered hug.

"Good trip?" he asked.

She sighed. "Long trip."

"Where's Mags?"

"Yeah, about Maggie…"

***

Chibs sat in the chair behind the desk, not really sure if he should allow Maggie to continue to pace tight little circles in front of the coffee maker. She looked tiny inside one of his sweatshirts, oddly shaken and unkempt. It wasn't a bad look for her, just unusual, and he felt himself wanting to comb the tangles from her hair with his fingers, rub the mascara smudges from under her eyes. She tore at a ragged fingernail with her teeth and made a quiet sound that was a mix between growl and whimper.

The office was dark, the only light coming from all the way across the lot and fading to a dusky haze as it slipped between the blinds. It cast angular, turquoise shadows across the tile and made her skin seem twice as pale as it should have.

Again, a dark feeling settled at the pit of his stomach. He had tried before to blame it on his personal paranoia, his fear that nothing in his life could go right. But watching Maggie now, he knew something was coming. Something bad, something he didn't want any part of.

"Is this about your father? I thought he was doing okay," he prodded.

Maggie shook her head vigorously. She stopped pacing and turned towards him, eyes closed, hands clenched in her hair.

"Maggie…darlin'." He climbed out of his chair and went around to the other side of the desk. He leaned back against it and reached for her but she took a step back. He sighed. "Come on-,"

"I found something out," she said quickly. Her eyes popped open and they were huge. Fearful. "In Seattle…I was sick and I found something out and I need to tell you. But…but I'm afraid you'll freak out."

"Freak out?" He was thoroughly confused now.

She nodded. "I know you will because I'm freaking out too." She worked her hands together nervously. "Chibs, I want, I _need _you to promise me that you'll stay calm when I tell you this."

His memory pulled up the conversation he'd had with her the night before she left, the one about the family flaw. The flaw that hadn't just ended with her father, but had been passed on to her as well. His own heart started hammering against his sternum. "You're sick?" he grabbed her wrists and didn't let her evade this time. He pulled her a step closer and she looked startled. "Maggie, are you…?"

"I'm pregnant."

"Oh Jesus," he sighed with relief. "I thought…wait. Pregnant?"

She bit down hard on her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood, and nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Chibs. I know you won't want-,"

"Won't want what?" he asked softly. His chest tightened, his head swam, he should have seen this coming but hadn't and was now thoroughly…amazed. He would make a terrible father, he didn't have a cent to his name, but in that instant, looking into the frantic hazel eyes that gazed up at him, he was transported back in time. Back to a place where another girl named Maggie had told him that she was carrying his child. Back to a time when the only shining spot in his life had been his girl and one she would bring into the world.

"You…" her lips trembled when she spoke. "You won't want me to keep the baby."

"Darlin'," he pulled her into his chest and wrapped both arms around her, resting his chin against the top of her head. He thought she might cry, but she only trembled. "Why would I want that?"

She didn't leave his arms, but she leaned back far enough so that she could look up at him. She looked just as shocked as he felt. "You mean…you're not mad?"

"No, luv," he sighed, brushing a kiss to her forehead. A slow, disbelieving smile spread across her face and he was so glad to see a little bit of her old self return that he felt himself do the same. "In fact, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I wasn't thinkin' with the right head."

She half-chuckled half-groaned and let her head flop forward into his chest. "What're we gonna do?" she asked.

"I dunno, luv," he sighed. "But we'll figure it out. I swear."

**TBC**


	18. Decisions Part I

**AN: So I lied…the second to last chapter was too long to post as one and I decided it might be best just to round things out with 20 chapters total. Ugh! The story that wouldn't end! **

**On a side note, I'll need to see how all of the Chibs/Irish drama unfolds for the rest of season 2 (loving it by the way) but I might have some ideas for future stories…**

**As usual, thanks so much for the reviews and apologies for typos.**

**Chapter 18: Decisions Part I **

Two months didn't make the morning sickness go away. It didn't increase Maggie's salary to a point that would support a baby. It didn't settle the guys' questions or jokes or funny looks. It didn't make telling Jax any easier. It didn't make his temper tantrum more bearable, or explain his sudden change of heart when he pulled Chibs into a manly hug and thumped him on the back exclaiming congratulations for his 'brother'.

But two months did, however, confirm what Maggie had suspected of Chibs all along. He was amazing.

She was sitting in the office, sorting through the day's work orders with Gemma when the Scotsman braced both hands in the open doorframe and leaned into the little room, sunglasses shoved into his hair and making it stick out in every crazy direction.

"I'm going out on a tow," he announced cheerfully. "You ladies need anything? You hungry?" he asked of Maggie in particular.

Gemma gave her a wicked smile and she resisted rolling her eyes. "I'm fine, baby," she assured.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," Maggie said, pressing a hand over her still-flat belly. "I'm not sure I could even keep down water at this point."

"Aye." He rapped the doorjamb with gloved knuckles and stepped out. "I'll be back in a bit, luv."

Gemma chuckled when he was gone. "Jesus Christ, is he gonna offer to wipe your ass next?"

"Gem!" Maggie tried to keep from grinning. "You know you think it's cute."

The Queen tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Yeah. He's sweet. Speaking of…you tell your _oh-so-sweet_ mother yet?"

Maggie sighed and turned her attention to her paperwork. "No. I can only imagine the screaming."

"Can't be worse than Jax."

"Oh yes it can," she fixed her cousin with a serious look. "Mom's not finding out until I invite her to the kid's second birthday party."

"Come on, Maggie-,"

"I'm serious," she insisted. "You know just as well as I do what she'll say."

"_What were you thinking, Margaret?!" _both women recited in unison.

Gemma nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right."

***

Clay, Bobby and Tig were taking a smoke break inside an empty garage bay and watched Chibs go check in with his woman for the fifth time that afternoon before he headed out to pick up a tow.

"You know, I gotta admit," Bobby said on an exhale. "He's really steppin' up."

"I know," Clay sighed. "Makes it harder for me to chop his balls off."

"You think they'll make it work?" Bobby asked.

"Naw," Tig said. "Maggie'll find some way to fuck things up."

Clay gave him a stern look but said nothing.

***

Maggie wanted desperately to stretch her legs – and to get away from her cousin's insultingly sweet comments about Chibs being her actual Scotty dog. She wandered out into the garage, not missing the skeptical looks some of the mechanics shot her way, and found Jax working on his bike.

"Hey, Jacko," she greeted cautiously, drawing up to the opposite side of his bike and putting her hands on the seat, leaning over it to see the top of his blond head.

"Hey," he said without looking up. He grunted when his fingers slipped and he bruised his knuckles against the engine.

Maggie sighed. In contrast to his other pouty, little kid spells, this time he seemed more upset with her instead of Chibs. She had tried for days to get him to sit down and talk with her, just finally get all the bad blood out of his system, but he'd always been 'busy'. She wasn't going to let him get away with it again. With each passing second, she felt this unexpected pregnancy bearing down on her and she couldn't deal with anymore doubt than what she'd already put on herself.

"I want you to come by my place tonight," she said. "I want you to come have dinner with Chibs and me."

He sighed when he looked up at her.

"Bring Tara if you want, it can be like a double date," she offered.

"And if I say I can't make it?"

"I'll knock you over the head and drag you there."

He sighed again and shook his head. "A'ight. What time?"

She clapped her hands together, suddenly ecstatic that he'd cooperated. "Seven. Oh, and BYOB. I can't drink so…"

"Maggie, I can't buy my own liquor yet, genius," he said with a hint of a grin.

She scratched the end of her nose with her middle finger. "Sucks to be you, Junior."

He finally gave her that goofy grin he saved for when they were alone, when he would risk looking less like badass biker.

"Don't be late," she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

***

Michael McKeevy stared at the last clinging drops of whiskey at the bottom of his shot glass and sighed.

"It's the best thing," the man across from him said.

"Still don't make it feel right," McKeevy muttered, reaching for the bottle.

***

Maggie stared at the tiny, two-person table behind her couch that she'd somehow managed to set for four. If she removed the fluted vase of flowers from the center, there might actually be room for their glasses. She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side, trying to decide if the whole tablescape venture was a lost cause. The guys would probably jut crash on the couch anyway. Then she and Tara would stare awkwardly at each other until the younger woman made up some lame excuse about needing to get back to studying or some shit.

There was a loud knock at the door and she frowned. It was only ten after six and she had specified seven to her menfolk. The roast wasn't anywhere near ready to come out of the oven.

"Don't any of you damn bikers own a watch?" she complained loudly as she unchained the door and cracked it open.

A gloved hand curled around the edge of the door and the toe of a tan workboot shoved its way in also. In one horrifying moment that Maggie would replay over and over in her mind for the rest of her life, she realized that the burly, masked figure shoving himself through her door was neither her cousin nor her boyfriend.

Maggie tried, too late, to slam the door and the man flung it open with his shoulder, knocking her back. She landed hard on her ass, all the breath leaving her in a rush as the masked villain stepped into her apartment. He was a big guy, obvious bundles of muscle straining his dark flannel shirt. His only distinguishable features were a hard-pressed, thin-lipped mouth and little round eyes of no particular color peeping through the holes in his ski mask.

She scrambled for purchase on the laminated faux hardwood and bumped into the arm of the sofa. He followed, not bothering to shut the door. She realized, with horror, that he wasn't planning on staying long. He would make fast work of her.

"Take what you want, I don't have any goddamn money," she snarled, finally gaining her feet.

He had reached her in two long strides and made a grab for her. Maggie tucked into a roll and dove over the arm of the couch, snatching up the lamp off the end table as she went. She came up on her knees, lamp raised over her head, and he snatched her wrist out of the air, twisting it hard.

She cried out and was forced to drop the lamp when her joint broke with an audible _crack_. Pain flooded her system in unrelenting, chilling waves as he tugged at her broken wrist, forcing her forward across the couch. She felt the tears come coursing down her cheeks and punched him repeatedly with her free hand as he continued to drag her up off the couch and over towards the kitchenette. She followed, stumbling, if for no other reason than to prevent her dislocated bones from coming through the skin.

"FUCK YOU!!" she screamed as loud as she could. Maybe if she yelled loud enough one of her neighbors would hear. "Let go of me, mother fucker!! Sick sonuvabitch!!"

"Shut up!" he hissed, slamming her backward into the refrigerator.

She choked on a whimper of pain when she registered the accent. Not so deep and guttural and smoky as Chibs. But a brogue. A tenor. This asshole was Irish.

"Irish? _Fucking Irish_?!" she shrieked. "I know your boss! McKeevy-,"

"I don' work for McKeevy, _sweetheart_," he mocked. He took hold of her other wrist and forced both her hands to the side of her head.

She twisted her good arm, bucked against his iron grip, kicked every part of him she could reach. She screamed and yelled and made as much noise as possible. And then he headbutted her.

Everything went black for a split second and then flashed back to a blurry, spotted version of reality. Maggie gasped, throat suddenly constricted, heart thundering against her ribcage. "Jesus…oh God, oh God…" she heard her own strained voice but didn't feel her lips move. "What do you want? Jesus, what do you want?!"

"I want," he leaned so close she could smell the remnants of his rank and fatty dinner on his breath ",for you to go away. Actually, it's what the boss wants. The Cause can't stand to have Telford preoccupied."

Her vision was clearing but the pain was so intense now. So bad. The throbbing in her wrist was spreading upward to her arm, her chest. Her chest was so _tight_. So much pressure. She couldn't breathe. Why couldn't she breathe?

"What…what…do you…want…with…Chibs?" she panted.

"All we want," he whispered. "Is for you to go away."

She gasped and squealed against the pain. God, it hurt so bad. "I'm…I'm…please don't hurt the baby," she pleaded. "Don't hurt my baby."

Through the haze of agony, she felt the fibers of his mask along her cheek.

"Sorry, luv, 'fraid I can't do that."

***

Jax would never forget what happened that night.

He and Chibs arrived at Maggie's apartment complex on their bikes, Tara clutching his waist for dear life. He took his spare helmet from her and dangled it off his handlebars, smoothing her hair with one hand and pulling her up into a kiss with the other. "You nervous about tonight?" he asked.

Tara offered him a tight smile and shook her head. "You're cousin…not half as scary as your mom. I can handle it."

"Good." He kissed the tip of her nose.

"Aw Christ, kids," Chibs groaned. "You two really gonna stand here and act out some after school special for me?"

Jax grinned and flung an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders as they headed up the sidewalk to the front door of the building. "What you gonna do about it, pops?"

Chibs gave him a mock scowl as they reached the door.

The building had pretty lax security standards and the guy behind the desk let them in without taking his eyes off the tiny black and white TV he'd set up. They took the stairs, Jax complaining the whole way, and were a little surprised to find Maggie's across-the-hall neighbor with the dog come scurrying down the hall toward them when they hit the appropriate floor.

The man dredged up a nasty sneer for them as he passed. "You goddamn hooligans," he spat. "Gang violence and ruckus at all hours!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Chibs asked his retreating form, voice heavy with confusion. He looked at Jax and the younger man shrugged. "I swear," the Scot muttered. "That asshole has it out for me…"

"What?" Jax asked as the older man trailed off and started down the hall, quickly. "Chibs?"

"Holy shit…" he heard Chibs say and then the Scotsman broke into a run.

Jax dropped Tara's hand and took off after him. "Dude…" and then he spotted the door to Maggie's apartment – it was wide-ass open. "Shit!"

Chibs was ahead of him, yelling for Maggie. "Maggie?! Christ, come on, darlin'. Maggie?!" He jogged straight back through to the bedroom and came out just as fast, hands held on top of his head in a helpless gesture as he scanned the tiny living room.

"Maggie?!" Jax called too, ducking to look under the coffee table. "Shit!" he repeated, sweeping the apartment with his eyes. "She's gotta be here, her car's in the lot-,"

"Oh Jesus," Chibs inhaled sharply, cutting him off.

Jax stepped around the couch and saw his cousin slumped lifeless on the floor of her kitchenette, propped back against the fridge at an odd angle, her arms flung out to the side. Chibs was on the floor beside her in an instant, fingers at her throat, checking for a pulse.

"Holy shit holy shit…" Jax chanted, hitting his knees beside her. He held his hands suspended in the air, no clue what to do, and shot a desperate look across her at Chibs.

"Pulse is irregular," Chibs growled. He moved his fingers to her right wrist and hissed. The joint was swollen and rapidly turning purple. "Broken. Shit!"

"What?...How?" Jax was at a loss. He felt suddenly tiny and helpless. Here was his almost-sister, unconscious and dark with bruises, and he couldn't do anything but inhale and exhale like a freight train. "Chibs?" his voice sounded squeaky in his own ears.

"We lay her down," the Scot explained. He put both her arms together in her lap, painfully mindful of her broken wrist, and cupped the back of her head. He hooked two fingers through her belt and slid her down to a flat position of the floor, cradling her head until it rested against the linoleum.

And then everything sort of happened at once. As soon as she was flat, Maggie arched up off the floor and sucked in a dreadful, deep gasp. Her eyelids fluttered once but her irises were rolled back in her head and she looked possessed. Her hands spasmed once and she bucked twice more before collapsing back to stillness. Chibs turned his head to the side and held his ear over her mouth. He swore something unintelligible and put his lips over hers. Her chest expanded and Jax realized that she wasn't genuinely breathing – Chibs was administering CPR.

"Oh my God!" Jax had forgotten about Tara.

He waved back toward the living room and the phone. "Call 9-1-1," he told her breathlessly.

Time seemed to stand still. Chibs worked on her; mouth-to-mouth, chest compressions. He talked to her in between, wispy, random tidbits of words that had no real meaning. He told Jax that he couldn't feel a pulse, that her heart wasn't beating. Jax rocked back and forth in his crouch, holding his hair off his face and breathing in furious gulps.

A new kind of in-his-face terror washed over him that night. He hadn't been there when his father died, but he could imagine the chaos that had ensued after that night with Maggie. He realized, through his sheen of useless tears, that the club's Scottish prospect was in love with his cousin. That nothing else could have been used to describe the desperation and tenderness that fueled his every life-saving caress in those precious minutes before help arrived.

The paramedics had to literally shove Chibs out of the way when they stormed in. When they pulled the portable defribulator out of the bag and charged the battery pack up with an electronic whine he lost it, started screaming at them that shocking her would hurt the baby somehow. The paramedics demanded that Jax try and restrain him and he vaguely remembered wrapping his arms around the livid boxer and trying to hold him at bay.

Little snippets of images would linger long after. The mask over Maggie's face. The frozen, silent scream on Tara's lips as she watched the tragedy unfold. Chibs trying to throttle one of the paramedics.

When it was over, all he wanted to do was sleep. But none of them were so lucky that night.

***

Gemma hit the ER waiting room with all of SAMCRO on her heels, Luann clicking across the tile beside her. Patients awaiting treatment glanced up at them, some afraid, some curious, others too hurt to care. The nurses behind the desk milled around in a frenzy of clipboards and computer keys. The Queen had one thought and one thought only; get to her little cousin. She'd gotten the call from a shaken Tara that there had been 'some kind of accident' and that Maggie was in 'real bad shape'.

Jax's girlfriend looked paler than usual and had puffy eyes as if she'd been crying. When they entered, she rose from her chair.

"Where is she?" Gemma demanded without preamble.

Tara blanched further at the sight of all the guys and worked shaky hands together. "Upstairs – she was at the top of the triage list," Tara explained, leading them toward the elevators. "They said Dr. Sheldon could see her right away…"

"Sheldon?" Gemma questioned loudly as she punched the UP button.

Tara nodded.

"What's that mean?" Luann asked as they waited for the car to rattle its way down to their floor.

Gemma closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose – frustrated and more than freaked. "Mean's it's bad," she said. "Sheldon's the one who fixed my heart."

***

Chibs sat in a hard plastic chair in the ICU waiting room at St. Thomas, elbows against his thighs, head between his knees. Jax was beside him, so close he could hear the kid breathe in stressed fits. They didn't speak, didn't look at each other, both of them shrouded in a worry so dense they could almost see it. Both praying that Dr. Sheldon would come out in a minute and give them a tired smile, tell them that Maggie had really dodged a bullet this time. That she was fine. The baby was fine.

_Christ, the baby _he thought to himself. He had been over and under her enough, had been so close, skin to skin, that he knew what it felt like when her heart was beating. Fast and hectic in the throes, or quiet and steady in her sleep. He knew that feeling; the slight jump of her skin.

There had been no heartbeat back at her apartment. None. Code Blue. And they'd put those goddamn paddles to her, coursed electricity through her system. And he still didn't know if she was alive. If their child was alive.

He heard the _ding _at the end of the hall down by the elevators and Jax tapped him on the shoulder.

"Mom," the younger man explained, voice barely there.

Chibs lifted his head marginally and saw the Queen come in with Luann on one side, little Tara on the other, Clay and Tig behind them. All faces were strained.

"Oh, boys," Gemma came toward them, arms lifting out to the side. She reached their chairs and neither could protest as she knelt between them and gave each of them a one-armed hug, pulling them together and towards her. "What do we know?" she asked quickly, pushing back and giving them frantic looks.

Chibs started to speak but was forced to clear the lump in his throat first. "They rushed her in about thirty minutes ago," he said roughly. "She wasn't breathin' on her own…"

Her mouth puckered up in anger. "How'd this happen?"

"She was attacked, Mom," Jax said, shaking his head. "We don't know who…may not unless Mags can tell us."

"Hit her in the face," Chibs added quietly. "Broke her wrist."

"Jesus Christ!" Gemma hissed, brushing her bangs aside with quick, frustrated motions. "Jackson," she motioned for her son to get up.

Chibs returned to staring blankly at the floor tiles and heard Jax leave the chair beside him. The seat was quickly filled though. Gemma put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, silently telling him that it would be okay.

Clay nodded Jax over as Bobby, Otto, and Opie got off the elevator. "Attacked?" Clay hissed low enough that passing nurses couldn't hear. "Where the fuck were you guys?"

"On the way," Jax protested. He swiped his hands down his face; too tired and emotionally strung out to endure Clay's chastising. "We had no idea, Clay."

"Had to be the Nords," Tig said, shaking his head. "Maggie got the shit beat outta his guy _twice _and he wants to shut her up."

Otto and Bobby nodded in agreement. "That's my guess," the VP said.

"Well he probably killed her," Clay was furious. "Somebody get the Nazi piece of shit on the phone. NOW." The President sighed heavily and swept his gaze across the room to where his wife sat comforting the Scotsman. "How's he holdin' up?"

Jax shook his head.

***

Dr. Sheldon emerged a half hour later, wiping the lenses of his glasses on a sleeve. He surveyed the room full of bikers with no apparent shock and slipped his glasses back on, spying Gemma and directing his medical jargon to her.

"Hey, Doc," Gemma said cautiously, scooting up straighter in her chair. The guys circled around her and the doctor, listening.

"Gemma," he nodded. "I've got good news and bad news about Maggie. The good – she's stable, for now anyway, and the fetal monitor's picking up a fairly regular pulse on the baby."

Chibs sighed, chest five times lighter, and sat back against the wall.

"The bad?" Gemma pressed, not wanting to delay things.

Dr. Sheldon sighed. "The broken wrist and facial contusions look rough, but will all heal. The real issue here is her heart. As you know, she was born with that good ol' Lawson family flaw…" He launched into a monologue about her weak heart and all the problems that went along with it. Something about her left ventricle. He talked and talked and Chibs tuned him out when he mentioned the baby and the risk it posed to her health.

"What are you getting at?" Gemma asked.

The room was silent for a moment.

"She had a heart attack," Dr. Sheldon finally said. "A mild one, but a heart attack nonetheless. I'd like to do surgery, put in a stint to help the blood flow, but I can't risk that while she's carrying a child. Pregnancy is going to be _extremely _taxing on her system."

Chibs snapped his attention up to the doctor for the first time, weighing what he'd just said.

"I think," Dr. Sheldon sighed. "That it would be safest for her to terminate the pregnancy."

***

Chibs heard the scuff of sneakers on concrete and knew who had followed him out. He sucked down the last of his cigarette and then flicked it away into the night. Jax stepped up beside him as he dug another one out of his cut.

"You a'ight?"

"What d'you think?" Chibs asked, snapping his Zippo open and lighting up. The smoke entered his lungs and soothed him, dulled the chaos in his head to a dull roar. Like white noise.

"Gemma called her mom," Jax said. His voice was all broken and throaty. "Said she should know. She's taking the red eye down from Seattle."

"Makes sense," Chibs said. Even though it made no sense. None of it made any sense. Maggie was a tough girl, a strong girl. She was more ambitious in the sack than any woman he'd ever been with. She was tan and fit and healthy and laughed every ten seconds…and this whole time there had been a ticking time bomb inside her. He couldn't come to terms with the thought that she was sick. And he'd gotten her pregnant. She was in this predicament because of him.

"We think…we think it was the Nords."

"Aye."

"Clay wants retaliation," Jax continued. "But he doesn't want you going off alone. We need to talk to Darby. And Maggie."

Chibs gave him a sideways look.

"She's awake," Jax said softly. "And she's asking for you."

**TBC**


	19. Decisions Part II

**AN: One more chapter after this! Hopefully, it will tie everything up nice and neat and won't leave you guys disappointed. **

**Chapter 19: Decisions Part II**

Chibs took a moment after he entered her room to lean back against the door and regain some of the composure he'd lost at the sight of her. The room was dark, the only light coming from a dinky, chain-store floor lamp, and it made her look worse than he had expected. The bed was flat, her head supported by two stacked pillows. She looked tiny and pale, swimming in her white gown. There was a cast over her right wrist. She was hooked up to two IVs – fluids and morphine – and had oxygen tubes in her nostrils. A wheeled cart full of monitors sat beside the bed, flashing and strobiing and beeping and keeping track of her and the baby.

_Jesus _Chibs thought, rubbing a tired, shaky hand down his face. How had she gone from fine to half dead in a matter of hours? How had he not seen any of this coming? If he and Jax had headed to her place early…if they'd gone out for dinner instead of letting her cook…

Her head stirred against the pillow. Her left hand lifted marginally, crimping the IV and sending the monitor to squawking. "Chibs…?" she called softly, voice a croak.

"I'm right here," he assured quickly, pushing away from the door and going to her. "Easy, luv," he took her hand gently in his and straightened her arm, soothing the angry monitor.

He took stock of her face for the first time and a hot lump rose in his throat. Violent red patches of freshly broken vessels stood out under each eye, the brows above already starting to turn purple. Her bottom lip was swollen to an unnatural thickness. She tried to smile up at him and winced instead.

"Just be still, darlin'," Chibs said. He brushed a stray wisp of hair off her forehead and nearly gasped when he realized how cool her skin felt. He let his hand rest on the top of her head when it started to quiver. "You…" he pulled in a deep breath.

"Almost kicked the bucket," she finished, startling him a little. This time she succeeded in smiling. "I know. The doc told me."

"It's not funny," he said seriously.

She sighed, a tired sound. She had to be exhausted after the entire ordeal. She should have been sleeping. "Sit with me?" she asked.

He should have pulled the chair over from the wall, but there was plenty of extra room in the bed and he perched on the side. He pulled her good hand into his lap, mindful of the IV drip lines, and rubbed her palm with his thumbs absently. She was so damaged and he couldn't help but feel that some, if not all of that, was his fault.

"I don't want to, but I have to ask you what happened," he locked onto her hazel eyes with his. "I need to know who did this so I can make it right."

She shifted under her covers, frowning. "This doesn't need to be your burden, Chibs."

He frowned too. "What?"

"I don't want you looking for revenge – getting hurt because of me."

"Getting hurt?" he was incredulous. "I don't give a shit about me. Look at you! You…you had a fuckin' heart attack for Christsakes!" He shook his head. "That Nazi asshole will _pay dearly _for this. I promise you."

Her eyes widened. "It wasn't Darby."

"But, Maggie-,"

"It wasn't the Nords," she repeated. "Chibs, don't let SAMCRO go off half-cocked on some war with Darby's crew over this because it wasn't them who did this to me."

She was starting to get agitated, starting to breathe more rapidly. He pushed down his own anxiety and smoothed a hand across her forehead. "Calm down, luv. Your heart can't take that right now."

She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. "I know," she whispered. "I know."

"If it wasn't the Nords…" he said after her pulse had settled.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She was so tired. "If I tell you," she nearly whispered. "I want you to promise you won't do anything rash."

He frowned.

"Promise me, Scotty."

He finally nodded. "Aye, I promise."

She swallowed hard. "He wore a mask so I don't know what he looks like. But I'll remember the voice. Chibs…he was Irish."

Chibs sat silent for a moment, letting it sink in. _Irish._

He didn't realize he'd gotten up until he planted his fist in the wall, shooting cracks through the painted sheetrock and roaring out loud – not at the pain, but at the fury. The Irish. The goddamn bane of his existence.

"Chibs?!" Maggie tried to sit up in bed and the heart monitor started beeping faster, tattling on her accelerated pulse.

"Lie back down," he told her, returning to the bed. He resumed his seat beside her, cupped hands held over his mouth, his own panted breaths loud inside his head. Maggie put her left hand on his arm and tugged at his sleeve.

"What?" she demanded. Her heart monitor was still beeping too quickly.

"Shhh," he rubbed her arm. "Be still."

"This is bad, isn't it?" she asked. "You punching walls…this is bad."

He nodded. "Aye."

"He said," her voice became eerily soft. "He said that his boss wanted me to go away…that you couldn't be preoccupied. What does that mean?"

"It means," he groaned ", that they're afraid I won't stay absolutely loyal to the Cause if I have someone like you around. They did this…" he let the very tips of his fingers brush across the valley between her breasts, right over her heart "…to keep me in line." His own chest tightened to a point that made breathing almost impossible. He leaned down to kiss her cheek and stayed there, his nose pressed against the side of her bruised face. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry for everything I've done to you, sweetheart."

Her good hand reached up and cradled the back of his head, holding him against her. "And what have you done to me that's worth apologizing for?" she asked with something like humor in her voice.

He pulled back but stayed low, close enough that he could see all the different shades of light and dark in her eyes. "For pushing you into this…getting you hurt…" his left hand trailed carefully down her body and settled on her belly. "For this," he said, voice cracking.

"Hey," she let her hand slide around his neck, tracing one of his scars with her thumb all the way down to the corner of his mouth. "Pushing me?" she grinned. "I think I was the one pawing all over you outside a bar. And in this town, someone was bound to come after me…Nords, Mayans…comes with the territory out here." She sobered a bit, moving her thumb over his lips. "And don't ever apologize for anything you've done," she whispered, widening her eyes for emphasis. "Because I've been hurting for a long, long time, Filip Telford, and the only thing you've done is make me happy."

He kissed her. He shouldn't have because she was on oxygen and clinging to her heart, but needed to. She moved her battered lips under his for a moment and then pushed him away.

"I know what the doctors are saying about the baby," she said.

He nodded, closing his eyes against the sudden hotness he felt behind them.

Maggie stroked his cheek. "Chibs, look at me."

He did.

Her voice was low and serious. "I don't care what any of them say, don't you dare let them take our baby outta me. You got that?"

"But…"

"But nothing," she said firmly. "There's no way in hell I'll abort this baby, even if it kills me."

He stared at her for a long moment, watching her eyes plead with him. "Aye," he said at last. "I won't let 'em."

***

The guys met him when he reentered the waiting room. Gemma and Luann glanced curiously from their seats, but said nothing. They knew the men were after retaliation and that it didn't concern them.

"What'd she say?" Clay wanted to know immediately. The others looked at him expectantly. Jax had a rigid, almost hopeful look in his eyes; praying for a name or a description they could use to wreak havoc upon the Aryans.

Chibs sighed heavily. He knew that there could be no retaliation in this circumstance – the IRA was too big and too powerful to reach. Not to mention the club's gun supplier. He doubted Clay would go after a lucrative business partner over his cousin-in-law's heart condition.

"She says it wasn't the Nords," he said.

They all looked confused. "Who then?" Bobby wanted to know.

Chibs shook his head. "She won't tell me – said to just leave it alone."

"What the fuck?" Tig was pissed that he wouldn't get to bash any heads.

"Are you serious?" Jax was livid. "Someone's gonna pay for this!" he made a move around Chibs. "I'll talk to her-,"

"Leave it alone, Jackie-boy," Chibs said, catching the young biker by the arm.

Jax's face was a story of confusion and rage, a whole plate full of scrambled emotions for which he had no outlet.

"She needs to sleep," Chibs said more quietly. "Maybe she'll tell us in the morning."

At least that was what he would let them believe.

***

Furious did not even begin to describe Diane Lawson's mood when she came storming down the hall at six the next morning. Chibs had slept, or tried to at least, in the ICU waiting room, visitors only being allowed in for fifteen minute intervals. The backs of his eyes felt like sandpaper and his head was pounding when Gemma brought him coffee. The Queen had gone home to shower and grab some things while Chibs and Jax kept watch. Jax was currently passed out across three chairs.

"Where is he?" Diane demanded when she entered the room, hands on her square hips.

Gemma rose gracefully and met her aunt halfway across the floor. "Maggie's just down the hall."

"No," the older woman spat. "I wanna know where _he _is; the little bastard who knocked her up and got her into this mess."

Gemma started to say something to buffer the situation but Chibs stood before she could get it out.

"That'd be me," he snarled, approaching his girl's mother with far too much hostility and too tired to care.

She backed up a step, shocked to silence, and looked him up and down. Then her features soured. "Jesus Christ! Look at him, Gemma! He's just some goddamn street thug!"

"Hey!" Gemma stepped between the two of them. "Maggie was attacked, this has _nothing _to do with him. Don't come in here and start trash-talking family."

"Family?!" Diane bristled. "Family?! He's not her family!"

Chibs wasn't thinking rationally and tried to push past Gemma to get to the other woman. He might have snarled.

"Jax!" Gemma hollered.

Her son had already stirred and was at Chibs' side in an instant, pulling the Scotsman back towards the chairs. "Take it easy, bro," he said. "We all knew she'd pitch a fit, just keep cool."

Chibs sat down hard, wiping his hands down his face. Things were so fucked up he couldn't even see straight.

Gemma put a hand on Diane's shoulder. Both women were shaking.

Tig and Bobby came down the hall from the direction of the elevators. "Oh, big help, guys," Gemma scoffed as they approached. "Where the fuck have you two been?"

"She ditched us downstairs," Tig said with an apologetic shrug.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because _somebody _had to stop and get a fucking Snickers outta the vending machine."

"Well that's just great," Gemma huffed. "I been up here playing fucking referee."

"I don't need chaperones," Diane stepped away from her niece and smoothed the front of her cotton blouse. She shot a nasty look at the two Sons who'd been charged with escorting her to the hospital.

"Good," Tig sneered back. "Next time, call a goddamn cab."

"Enough!" Gemma sliced her hands through the air, silencing everyone. She spun, shooting a death glare to all the room's inhabitants. "Now everyone is running on fumes 'cause of what happened to Maggie. But we are NOT falling apart. Understand?"

Chibs sighed. Jax nodded. Diane turned away. "Sorry, mother," Tig said.

It was awkwardly silent for a moment. "I want to see my daughter," Diane said.

***

Diane stayed in Maggie's room longer than the fifteen minute limit and Chibs grew too anxious to just sit around. He went out for a smoke break and Jax soon joined him. They stood side by side, in a repeat of the night before, and watched the cars move in and out of the parking lot. There was a light, cool January breeze that pulled the smoke clouds away from them.

"She wants to keep the baby, doesn't she?" Jax asked after a while.

Chibs sighed on an exhale. "Aye. Made me promise I wouldn't let them abort it. Even if…"

Jax shook his head. "She's too damn stubborn, can't just do what's best-,"

"It's what she wants, Jackie-boy," Chibs cut him off harshly. He turned and pushed his shades up on his forehead, trying to make the kid understand. "I can't…after all this…I can't tell her no."

Chibs expected a violent reaction, but Jax only looked sad. "I know," he said quietly.

They lapsed into silence again, each man lost in thoughts and cigarettes. Chibs again felt guilty. He knew that despite what he'd said, Clay and Otto had gone to rattle Darby's cage that morning. He didn't want the Sons to start a war they couldn't finish with the Irish, but he also didn't want them to rock Charming with an unnecessary backlash against the Nords. He questioned Jax's ratio of volatility to level-headedness. He wasn't sure the kid could handle the truth, but he needed to tell someone before the guilt ate away at him.

"Jackie-boy," he started, drawing a curious look from the younger man. "Maggie told me who came after her."

"What?!"

"I didn't tell you because there's nothing the club can do to fix it." He gave him a serious look, reading the sparks behind his eyes. "Trust me, kid, I want someone dead over this, more than you can imagine. But…the people who did this…"

"Who was it?" Jax demanded. "We're the law in Charming, they can't hide from us-,"

"Ain't you listening?" Chibs was frustrated. "All me telling you does is get the truth out. _No one _will pay for this but us."

The seventeen-year-old worked his mouth open and closed a few times, finally sighing loudly. "Just tell me, Chibs."

"The Irish. It was the Irish."

"McKeevy?! That asshole!"

"It wasn't him, Jackie-boy," Chibs assured. "He probably knew about it, but he ain't that cruel. This was someone else."

Jax rubbed his hands down his face, shaking his head. "Jesus…Clay won't want the pipeline to dry up over this…he won't go after them."

"Which is why we don't tell him," Chibs said, earning a startled look. "They did this to hurt me, keep me from getting too comfortable."

Jax narrowed his eyes.

"You've no idea how wicked they are, kid."

The younger man sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. "What do we do then?" he sounded helpless. He had been unable to protect his family, and now couldn't seek justice. He was lost.

Chibs put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "We do what we can. We love her, keep her alive, and make sure this doesn't happen again."

Jax nodded slowly. "This isn't right."

"I know."

Then, to Chibs' surprise, Jax turned and man-hugged him, thumping him on the back, hands making slapping sounds against the leather of his cut. "It's good she has you," Jax said. "Thanks, bro."

***

Diane was back in the waiting room when they returned, perched uneasily on the edge of a chair, her jacket wadded up in her lap. She kept shooting disgusted glances towards Tig and Bobby who were watching the nurses at the end of the hall and trying to guess what cut and color their panties were.

Chibs eyed the woman suspiciously. When she wasn't frowning at the bikers, she looked far more composed than she had earlier. Almost smug. Or relieved maybe. He shouldn't have, but he always thought of her in the worst light possible.

Gemma met them at the doorway with a tired smile. "Doc says she's stable, gonna move her to a regular room." She held up a slightly crumpled pack of Newports. "Mind if I step out for a while?"

"Sure, Ma," Jax nodded.

"Behave," she warned them as she left.

The ICU waiting room was tiny and there wasn't much choice of seating. Chibs and Jax settled into chairs across from Diane, neither one trying to make eye contact with the woman.

"Nice to see you, Jackson," she said, surprising them. She sounded anything but glad to see him, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Yeah." He nodded in acknowledgement.

Then she turned her calculating gaze to Chibs. "She talked about you a lot."

He met her eye to eye, but said nothing.

"You the one who talked her into keeping the baby?"

"No, that was all her."

Diane frowned. "She has something to tell you."

***

Chibs didn't like the tenor in Diane's voice when she announced that Maggie needed to tell him something. So he waited and the doctors approved her move at ten. Two nurses wheeled Maggie and all her IV paraphernalia down to the next floor to a regular room, one with a big window and three guest chairs. She still looked tired and the bruises under her eyes had darkened to indigo during the night. But she was propped up in bed and the oxygen had been removed. She caught Tig and Bobby eyeing the nurses and gave them hell for it. She laughed and it sounded real.

She traded jabs with the guys for a while and then her face slowly started to shut down. She was tired after fifteen minutes of conversation. She gave Gemma a meaningful look and arched her bruised eyebrows in question. "Can I have a minute with Chibs?"

"Course you can, baby," Gemma gave her little cousin a kiss on the forehead and then ushered the other men out of the room.

Diane lingered a moment and Maggie sighed. "You too, Mom. Out."

Diane closed the door as she left and Maggie immediately started staring at her hands, picking absently at her cast.

"Your mum said earlier that you wanted to tell me something," Chibs prodded, going to the edge of the bed.

She glanced up at him quickly, nodded, then looked back down. "Yeah."

"What is it, luv?" he perched at the side of the bed and put his hand over her good one, stilling her nervous gestures. "Did you…change your mind about something?"

"No," she blurted. "Absolutely not." She looked at him and her gaze was pleading. "Mom and I talked for a long time and she knows the baby isn't up for discussion. But…she offered me something and I gotta admit that it makes sense."

He was silent, waiting.

"This pregnancy is gonna be tough – fatal possibly. And if what we both know about the Irish is true, I'm at risk just sitting here like a lump." She sighed. "Chibs, my dad's friend in Seattle is _the _cardio guy on the west coast…" Tears started rolling down her battered cheeks and he reached to brush them away.

"What're you saying?" he asked, his chest compressing. He knew where this was headed.

"I…I…" she was full-on crying now, choking on her words. "I think it would be best for both of us…if…if…I went to Seattle with my mom."

"You're leaving," he said numbly.

"Chibs-," she closed her eyes and shook her head fiercely. "Please…please, you have to understand. I'm trying to do this for both of us. I don't _want _to leave. Dear God, I don't want to be anywhere but here…"

As gently as he could, he moved her to the far side of the bed and climbed in beside her, boots and all, and she collapsed against his chest. She broke into a million pieces and he held her until she cried herself to sleep.

***

He rode as fast and as far as he could, until the sun was low and the shadows long. He emptied his head, just let the wind sweep all the anguish away and let a delicious vacuum take over inside him.

The road was simple. It was hard, glittered pavement and growling engine, tires and gears and the feel of grit in his face. The sky and the earth came together as one at the horizon line, a blue ribbon that might possibly be a secret glimpse of heaven.

_This_, this absence of all things but freedom, was what had founded the Sons. It was what had brought him to California. It was what would keep him sane when Maggie left.

Night descended and Chibs turned his bike back towards Charming. There was no way to prevent what was coming, but he ought to be there. He wasn't sure if he would even get another chance.

***

Maggie spent two more days at St. Thomas. And then she left.

Chibs spent the entirety of those two days at the hospital, sitting with her, sleeping in hard plastic chairs.

Diane came in the morning she was to leave and announced that there was a cab waiting for them. The nurses unhooked the IVs and monitors and Maggie shrugged into sweats. She was shaking visibly when Chibs put an arm around her shoulders and steered her down the hall to the elevators. When they were safely inside and the doors slid shut she fell apart, crouched down and put her hands over his face.

"I thought I was done crying!" she said, angry at herself.

Chibs reached for her and she staved him off, getting back to her feet.

"I'm okay," she said with a deep breath. "I gotta do this." She smoothed her hair back off her face and inhaled again. Then she fixed him with a serious look. "I don't expect you to wait on me, hell, don't want you to. Have fun," she ordered. "Live it up with the guys…" her face twisted and fresh tears started to fall. She slid her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. "I love you," she whispered. "Whatever happens, I want you to know that."

He stroked her hair and whispered that it would be alright.

She pushed away suddenly, swiping at her tears. "Here," she said, fishing her big silver cross out of the neck of her sweatshirt. "I want you to have this," she took the necklace off and pressed it into his hand.

"No, luv," he tried to give it back. "This is special to you-,"

"Please take it," she said. "Please, Chibs."

He looked at her and sighed. There was no use telling her no. He slipped the chain over his head and the pendent rested against his chest, like it was made for him.

She smiled with sad satisfaction.

The rest of the club was outside the hospital, all waiting and smoking. Each member hugged her gingerly, afraid she might break. Even Tig who gave her a kiss on the cheek. She saved Jax for last, hugging him fiercely and he picked her up off her feet when he squeezed her. They whispered something to one another and Jax's eyes looked red-rimmed when they pulled away.

"Gem…" Maggie started, but couldn't finish when she embraced her cousin.

"You're amazing, don't ever forget that," Gemma said. "We all love you."

Maggie nodded, unable to speak.

Diane stood beside the open door of the cab, ready and anxious to hit the road.

There was only one person she hadn't formally said good-bye to. She and Chibs didn't speak, didn't smile for each other. He held her as long and as tightly as he could, until she started to shake.

"Go, luv," he told her, pushing her back gently.

And she went. All of SAMCRO watching the cab slip around the corner.

***

Chibs couldn't even read the label anymore on the bottle of Jim Beam he'd taken for himself. It was more than two-thirds empty and he held it loosely in one hand, the other keeping him from sliding off the edge of his bed. The cross around his neck felt heavier than it should. It mocked him. _She's gone and all you have is a fucking necklace…_

His dorm room was dark. Empty. Cold.

He sat and listened to the muted sounds of music seep through the walls and was thankful when a drunken unconsciousness finally claimed him.

**TBC**


	20. All Those Years

**Chapter 20: All Those Years **

**March 1995**

The bullets fell on them like rain, glancing off the side panels of the van, the dumpster, the brick walls of the building; the _boom _of the guns mixing oddly with the screeches and pings of ricochets. The windows in the van were shot out and the spray of glass showered them all in crystal flecks.

"We're seriously fucked, boys," Otto muttered, way too calm for their current situation.

Chibs tried to sneak a look around the front fender of the van and thought better of it when a fresh volley of rounds was unleashed. They were taking a shipment of AKs to Oakland and had been intercepted by the Mayans – the "fucking wetbacks" as Tig had so poetically put it. One of the Mexican bikers had jumped in front of the van wielding an AR-15.

"Jax!" Otto yelled.

Chibs leaned around the VP and saw Jax go diving out into the line of fire, trying to go all First Blood on the Mayans with nothing but a nine mil.

"Goddamnit," Otto said. "Gonna get his skinny ass killed."

Chibs wasn't really thinking, just reacting when he leapt to his feet and scrambled after the kid. Otto demanded to know what the fuck he was doing as he charged through the unprotected space between the back of the van and the dumpster, snatching Jax up by the arm and dragging him with him.

"Are you out of your stupid fucking mind?!" he demanded once they were sheltered.

"Are _you_?" Jax retorted, earning a scowl.

Ignoring the question, Chibs leaned around the dumpster and was met by a perfect bead on the guy with the AR-15. He took him out with one shot. The others all had handguns and started yelling and cursing in Spanish when they realized their advantage had been lost.

The Scotsman turned around and Jax's eyes were huge.

"Dude…"

**June 1995**

"Christ," Chibs hissed as he tried to flex his fingers. His right hand was a mangled, purple and pink mess.

"Now," the ER doc pinched his palm and back of his hand together between two fingers, pressing hard. "Does it hurt when I do this?"

"What the fuck?" Chibs bellowed, snatching his hand away.

The doctor shook his head and muttered something under his breath. He turned to address Otto and Jax instead, assuming they were more level-headed at this point. "The x-rays came in a few minutes ago. I'm afraid it doesn't look good for your friend."

"Doesn't look good?!" Chibs wanted to know. "The fuck, doc…you gonna take my goddamn hand off?"

"He's still a little wound up from the fight," Otto explained, slapping a hand down on the Scotsman's shoulder.

The doctor seemed to become even more disgusted with the trio of bikers. "Well, anyway, he's nearly shattered more than half the bones in his hand. He won't be boxing again anytime soon…if ever again. Damage like this will take a _long _time to heal and even then…" he shrugged.

Chibs took a moment and let the news sink in. No more boxing, possibly ever. His pulse quickened, the throb of blood loud in his ears. He had thrown himself into the weekend fights with new, almost frightening gusto. It was a simple, carnal exercise for the body and a distraction for the mind. When he was in the ring, he wasn't thinking about Maggie or the baby, about how tired she sounded over the phone. In the ring it was just him and whatever poor fucker he pounded the shit out of.

"What…what do you mean, no boxing?" he asked, feeling almost desperate.

The doctor rolled his eyes.

Jax knocked him lightly on the shoulder. "It'll be alright, bro."

**September 1995**

Ava. She was tiny and still bright pink in the face, all soft, fleshy little arms and tiny hands that curled and uncurled in her sleep. She slept, breath making soft, whispering sounds as it passed through little baby lips. Three days old and she already had super-fine, wispy brown hairs filling in on the very top of her head. She was warm and all swaddled up in pink fleece. She had that unmistakable, completely pure new baby smell. The paper band around one tiny wrist had been filled in with the name her mother had picked out for her weeks before; Ava Rae Telford.

Somehow, miracle of all miracles, Maggie had carried the pregnancy to full term. Her father's friend Paul was some sort of god in a white labcoat and had monitored the process flawlessly. He had developed a plan that would remove the baby via c-section while he fixed Maggie's heart. Two surgeries at one time would be better for her in the long run; only having to be put under once, minimizing risk to the baby, etc.

Chibs, Jax and Gemma had all come up, Clay offering to divert the interests of the Irish for a few days. That had been one hell of a conversation, Chibs finally admitting to the club the identity of Maggie's attacker. The President had been furious, but just as Chibs had predicted, his hands were tied. All members agreed that a secret Maggie was a safe Maggie.

Chibs sat in a rocking chair, rocking very carefully, gaze fixed on the baby girl in his arms. He hadn't really been able to say anything when the nurse had handed him his daughter. He'd just been staring at her, touching her forehead every so often, not quite believing something so heavenly had been created, in part, by him.

The sheets on the bed beside him rustled and he looked up. She was pale and thin, her eyes heavy-lidded, but Maggie was alive, and her heart was beating considerably stronger then before.

A slow smile split her tired face. "How is she?" she asked, sounding sleepy.

He rose slowly so as not to wake Ava and went to sit on the edge of the bed. "She's perfect," he said. "Looks just like her mama."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Just wait, Telford, there's a lot o' Scotty dog in that one. I can just tell…" she trailed off when she reached up and touched the edge of the blanket, eyes glazing over with moisture. "Jesus," she breathed. "I can't believe we all made it alive."

He put Ava in her arms and she cradled her against her chest. "I wish you could stay with us," she whispered.

Chibs sighed. "I know, luv. I know." He kissed her forehead.

As he sat with his girls, he thanked God, because this time, the Big Man had actually been on his side.

**December 1995**

"Alright, alright, everybody shut the fuck up and let me talk," Clay announced.

Tig put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply, effectively silencing all the noise the California, Utah, Washington, and Oregon charters were generating.

Clay nodded his thanks once and let the silence hold for a moment before he started. "I was gonna do this last week, but I thought I'd wait until we're _all _here anyway…"

"You nervous, bro?" Jax asked from his position beside Chibs in the crowd.

Chibs arched a single brow. _Why the fuck would I be nervous?_

Jax chuckled. "Yeah, forget I asked."

"…It takes a lot of commitment, and a lot of goddamn balls to last a year with this crowd," Clay was still talking. "And I gotta say, I've never seen a unanimous vote get passed so loudly as the one we made last night." He grinned. "It's a great honor for the Sons of Anarchy Redwood Original to welcome Chibs as a full patch-holder."

The clubhouse erupted with cheers and applause. Chibs embraced the President and his freshly patched cut was handed back to him. He was a Son now.

Jax hugged him tighter than the rest. "Welcome home, brother," he said, with an ear-to-ear grin.

**June 1996**

"I'm so glad you came," Gemma told Chibs when she met him at her front door. She turned and led him into the house. "He's in the backyard."

"How bad off is he?" Chibs asked as he followed.

The Queen started to say something but just shook her head. "I didn't know who else to call," she said. "He won't even listen to Ope…I just figured you could, you know, relate to this sort of thing a little better."

"Aye," he sighed and nodded. "I'll do my best."

Jax was sitting on the low stone wall that surrounded the patio, back to the house, facing the tangle of flowers and shrubs that decorated the yard. A half empty bottle of Jack Daniels sat beside him.

Chibs took a moment to gauge the kid's posture, trying to make sure he wasn't crying. He couldn't handle crying. _This must be what I looked like _he thought to himself sadly. He made his way over to the wall and sat down, but faced the house, not looking at Jax, giving him a little more space.

He took his time, dug a cigarette out of his cut and lit up, stalled a bit. "Jackie-boy," he said at last. "Your mum wants me to cheer ya up a bit, tell you it'll get better and all that shit."

Jax sneered but said nothing.

"Well, brother," Chibs continued. "I'm 'fraid I can't do that."

This time Jax turned. His red-rimmed, puffy eyes widened in slight shock.

"Trust me, kid, I know what it feels like," Chibs said softly. "It's happened to me more than once." He told him about the first Maggie and her untimely end. Then he hinted at the time wasted with the woman he'd come to refer to as simply _the other one _in his head. Saying her name was some sort of sin in his book. And Jax knew about the second Maggie and all the trauma there.

He sat silently, listening to the tale and shook his head at the end. "That's terrible shit," he said.

"Aye," Chibs said on an exhale. "Enough to kill a man."

Jax returned his attention to the yard, eyes getting a faraway look. "I tried _so hard _to make her understand…to make her stay. But Tara…she just doesn't get it. What the club means to me, what it could've meant for _us_. I just…"

"Sometimes it doesn't matter how much you care about someone if you're both moving in different directions," Chibs said, not sure if he could explain it properly. "You've no idea how much I wanted your cousin to stay here…but at least I know she's safe, at least the kid has a fighting chance of not ending up with some goddamn biker. Those things are a helluva lot better than the alternatives."

Jax took a long pull of whiskey and said nothing.

Chibs sighed. "I won't pretend it'll be easy, or that you'll forget about her. But your mum gets worried. At least try to snap out of it for her."

"I think she killed me, Chibs," he said softly.

"Aye. Bein' dead fucking sucks, don't it?"

**October 1996**

Maggie was on her knees on her bed, hands on the headboard, Chibs behind her. He gripped her hips hard and drove into her again and again, knocking the whole bed against the wall with a _bang…bang…bang…_

It had been a long, long time since the last time and there had been no tenderness, no gentle, achingly slow caresses. They had started in the cramped little kitchen of her bungalow. He'd set her up on the counter and they'd fucked as fast as furious as two teenagers trying to get the deed done before nosy parents arrived home. Ava had remained asleep in her crib so they'd half-walked, half-fucked their way down the hall. Then the clothes had come off and the kissing, licking, biting, thrusting madness had continued. It was wet, sweaty, shameless animal sex. Maggie didn't care that she panted and moaned and begged like a dog in heat, she just didn't want it to stop.

But it did eventually, and then neither had the energy to move once they flopped side by side onto the mattress. The sun had set while they were at it, and now it was dark, the room bathed in shadow.

He had changed in the past year. His hair was a little longer, a little messier. He'd told her that a ruined hand had ended his boxing career and his body was starting to show that; not so toned or tight, the distinct outlines of muscle fading beneath his skin. He had a reaper tattoo that ran from the point of his left shoulder nearly down to his elbow, and a cross on his right shoulder. He'd told her he planned on acquiring others, but hadn't decided what yet.

She knew she'd changed too and felt suddenly self-conscious about it now in the dark. She had two scars; one from her c-section and another from her heart surgery, darker pink streaks on now pale skin. It rained so much in Seattle that she wasn't golden tan anymore. Pregnancy had changed her body. She was hitting the gym, but she knew her stomach wasn't as firm anymore. She wondered if he'd noticed.

They were quiet for a long while and then he rolled over onto his side and pulled her up against him. He kissed her, slowly, thoroughly, not as rough as earlier. His hand skimmed down her side and around to her ass, squeezing and pulling her closer.

It was like a dance this time, like a lithe, highly skilled routine. It was slow but fluid, not so hasty. She followed his lead stroke for stroke, praying he didn't notice the tears on her cheeks. It hurt so bad to know that in the morning he would leave and it might be another six months before he could hash out a plan that brought him close to Seattle. She wondered sometimes if it wasn't harder to see him than not. And she wondered if he was having sex back in Charming. The hunger and the anxiousness of their reunion made her think that he probably wasn't, that he was trying to be faithful to her. Even after all she'd put him through.

Afterward, lying half on his chest, his hand playing absently with her hair, she knew that she had to set him free. She knew that he would always be there for Ava if she needed him, but she couldn't let him go hungry like he had been. Even if it broke her heart.

"Chibs," she said softly.

"Hmm?"

"I…I think you ought to know that…I'm seeing someone," she fibbed.

He was quiet for a moment. "You fucking him?"

She closed her eyes tightly but a tear managed to escape and slide sideways down her face. "Yes," she whispered.

There was another moment of silence and then he eased himself out from under her. The sheets rustled as he climbed out of bed. He dressed and left. She heard the TV come on down the hall.

Maggie rolled over and buried her face in the pillow so he wouldn't hear her sobbing.

***

Two weeks after his return to Charming, Chibs sat at the bar and studied the ass of the Crow Eater who kept fetching his beers. She was probably his age or older, but the way she'd stuffed her curves into those red leather pants was beyond him. They were so tight they highlighted the cleft between her legs and he found himself liking it.

She returned with yet another dripping, long-neck beer and leaned across the bar as she handed it to him, squeezing her breasts together and inviting his eyes down into her cleavage. He knew that look on her face, the _I'll-fuck-you-silly _smile, the one that came with a guarantee of no strings.

She smiled at him. "I get you anything else, honey?"

He did a sweep of her body once more. He was tired of being perpetually wound up, tired of whacking off to a goddamn magazine centerfold. And why shouldn't he have a little fun? Maggie certainly was…

This girl was used to the club; she'd let him do whatever, however and be gone before the sweat dried.

"Aye, darlin'," he returned her smile. "That you could."

**1997**

Opie and Donna got married in April; just a small church wedding with family and close friends in attendance. Jax was his best man and Chibs sat with the rest of the Sons and not one of them wore a suit. Opie had put his foot down about a denim and leather wedding. Donna wore a simple sun dress and her family looked appalled at the pews full of bikers cracking suggestive jokes through the vow readings.

Chibs didn't make it back up to Seattle until August. He would never admit that it stung too bad, that it would kill him if Maggie knew what he'd been up to with whichever whore he could charm. Even if now he figured the score was even.

The Irish were sniffing around but he went anyway – Alan had passed away.

He showed up late to the graveside service and slowly approached the small cluster of black-clad relatives with handkerchiefs pressed to their noses. Maggie sat in a chair up front next to her mother, Ava bouncing in her lap. Chibs slipped silently beside her, awestruck by how much Ava looked like him. She had small but sparkly brown eyes, and little brows that arched over the top of them. She smiled and tried to say something that sounded like garbled goop when she saw him. She had his dimples.

Maggie jerked her head to see what had caught the baby's attention and gasped when she realized he was sitting next to her. "Oh, baby…" she started and had to stop for fear of crying harder than she already was.

He put an arm around her and earned odd looks from the other funeral-goers. Oblivious to the sad day, Ava laughed happily. "Diddy!" she squealed.

Maggie managed a smile. "I show her pictures," she explained, wiping at her eyes.

And Chibs' heart broke a little more when he realized that there must not be any men in Maggie's life or Ava wouldn't have recognized him as Daddy. She had pushed him away on purpose, figuring he was too horny to wait on her. He felt like an ass.

**More Years**

For all its roughness, MC life wasn't half as hard as what he'd lived through so far. There was always a devil around the corner, always someone who needed shutting up and likewise someone who needed helping.

The power shift in Ireland led to some unpleasant developments at home and one day Happy called down with the news that the shamrocks were digging for dirt up north, wondering why their Scottish wing man spent so much time on the road.

Clay told him to stay put for a while. And he did. And eventually, he didn't go back at all.

The new prospect, a kid with a Mohawk framed by lightening bolt tattoos, knew more than your average shithead about techno stuff and he taught Chibs how to set up a free email account that couldn't be traced. When Juice asked him who he wanted to talk to, the kid earned a scowl and slap to the back of the head. His first lesson in not asking about the Scotsman's personal life outside the club.

Jax got married, got divorced almost as quickly. But little Abel held some hope for the future, made all of them a little wistful for days and children past.

**Present Day (2008)**

"Jackie-boy," Chibs called, absently flinging his T-M shirt into his locker and slamming it closed. "I gotta head out for a bit…you watch the prospect for me?"

Jax checked the time on his cell phone. He nodded. "Yeah, I got a few hours before Clay and I head out." He stowed his phone away and grinned. "You got a hot date or somethin'?"

"Aye, or somethin'," he said mysteriously as he headed across the lot towards his Dyna.

Jax winked. "Tell her that little cuz says 'hi'," he said quietly.

Chibs nodded. "Hey, who told you to stop jumping?" he demanded of Half-Sack as he passed.

The Prospect groaned. "Dude, I can't feel my feet anymore," he whined. The kid was sopping wet and breathing hard. He'd been jumping rope for nearly an hour.

"Not up to me anymore," Chibs shrugged. "Jackie-boy's in charge now."

"And Jackie-boy says to jump the fuckin' rope," Jax said.

Half-Sack groaned.

***

Chibs ran his hand through his hair one last time in front of the bathroom mirror. He was more than a little ashamed of himself for being nervous. But, staring at his reflection, he knew it was because he didn't exactly look the part of the man she'd fallen for all those years back. His hair was going gray at his temples, he'd drunk too much beer and now had the belly to prove it. He thought he looked a hell of a lot older, tired even. He sighed when he realized there was nothing that could be done for that now and shouldered his way back out into the diner.

She was already there.

Maggie sat in a booth along the big bank of windows in front, staring out at the parking lot and fiddling with a packet of Sweet 'n' Low. He was glad she was looking away, gave him a chance to pull his shit together as he walked up to the booth.

She was thirty-six now but didn't look it. Same strong bone structure in her cheeks, same wavy dark blonde hair down past her shoulders. She was wearing a black long-sleeved t-shirt with a scoop neck that hinted at the nice rack she didn't have to flaunt.

"You look beautiful, darlin'," he told her as he slid into the seat across from her.

She beamed as she turned to face him, looking just like the twenty-two-year-old Maggie who'd jumped up on a picnic table and cheered for him to kick Tig's ass. Nothing had changed, she still had the same effect on him.

"Hey, stud," she leaned across the table and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're just as hot as ever."

He thought she must be lying but her hazel eyes said otherwise. She laid a hand over his arm on the table and squeezed. "I mean it," she said, seeming to read his mind. "After we eat, maybe we can hit up the bathroom counter in there for old time's sake." She waggled her eyebrows.

"Even better," he chuckled. "There's a motel down the block and I've got a new bike I'm dying to show you."

"I saw it when I came in," she said, sounding impressed. "Serious upgrade."

"Aye."

A waitress came and took their order, returning with their Cokes a half second later. When she was gone for the second time, Chibs fished an envelope from inside his cut and slid it across the table.

"Chibs," she warned. "I told you to stop sending money."

"And I said fuck no to that. Open it up, there's pictures in there too."

She cracked open the envelope and was delighted to find a stack of photos in with the cash. "Look at you, Mr. Kodak," she teased, spreading them out on the table. "Ooh, my little cousin got _hot_, man," she said, tapping a candid shot of Jax outside the garage.

There was a picture Gemma had taken of SAMCRO all lined up in front of the clubhouse together and Maggie held it up to the window. "Damn," she laughed. "Tigger's hair is making a slow retreat…Piney's on oxygen?...somebody needs to cut Ope's beard, he looks like a gnome…who're these two?" she turned the picture sideways and pointed at Juice and Half-Sack.

"That little retard there," Chibs indicated Juice ", patched in a year or so ago. Big heart, small brain," he said with a chuckle. "And this one's my prospect, been around about six months."

"_Your _prospect? You finally get a sponsorship gig?"

"He's a boxer."

"Ahh, makes sense." She regarded the picture again and smiled. "They're cute – the new kids." Then she sighed. "I miss all the guys. I know it's been a long time, but…"

He nodded.

Maggie snapped her fingers. "Oh, I brought pictures too." She pulled a little photo book out of her purse and handed it to him.

Every shot was of Ava or Maggie and Ava together. He flipped through them slowly, marveling at the fact that the girl could look one hundred percent Telford and somehow be so beautiful. She had grown up, was nearly as tall as her mother in some pictures. Her hair was brown almost to the point of black, stick-straight and down to the middle of her back. She wore jeans and beat-up sneakers from what he could tell, not overly-girly. But she was starting to change, starting to look more like a woman. The thought frightened him a bit.

"Can you believe she's thirteen?" Maggie asked.

"She's beautiful," he said, shaking his head in slight amazement. He sighed. "Wish I'd been there," he said, handing back the album.

Maggie shook her head. "Keep it, I made that for you."

"Really?"

She nodded.

He tucked it inside his cut. He'd have to find a hiding place for it, somewhere prying Irish eyes would never look.

Their lunch came and they ate and talked like they'd been doing it every day for the past fourteen years. Being back with Maggie was easy, like walking or breathing, it was just something he knew how to do. He paid for both of them and when they ambled out into the parking lot, a mutual sadness descended upon them.

"We should do this more often," Maggie said, kicking at a stray piece of gravel that had ended up on the sidewalk. "A couple times a month maybe."

He sighed. "It would be nice," he said. "But not too safe, luv."

She nodded. She knew the drill.

They were silent for a moment, staring off at nothing, just enjoying the silent company. The sun dipped a little lower in the sky and Chibs knew he needed to head back and make sure Half-Sack was prepped for the fight. Maggie needed to get back on the road and meet up with Happy's crew before it got dark.

He started to turn towards her and she met him halfway, standing up on her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her, breathed in the scent of her hair and clothes, loved the old familiar feel of her body against him.

"You know," she said against his neck, sounding a little teary. "It won't matter how old I get or how far the distance is, there won't ever be anybody but you."

He pushed her back and kissed her forehead. "You should go, baby," he said. "'fore it gets dark."

She nodded and stared at the silver cross he still wore around his neck. She traced a finger over it and smiled sadly. "Hold on," her head snapped up. "I gotta show you something." She rolled up her right sleeve and extended her arm. On the inside of her right forearm, contrasting sharply against the white of her skin, was the SAMCRO Old Lady crow tat with a slight variation. In its talons, the bird carried a rippling, Scottish flag.

"You like?" she asked hesitantly. "I got it done two years ago, had Hap draw up a pattern for the tattoo place I went to. 'Course Mom had a fit, Ava thinks it's cool-,"

He cut her off with a kiss, moving his lips hard over hers and earning a little moan in return.

"I take it you like it?" she laughed a little breathlessly when he broke away.

"Aye." He stayed still, his forehead resting against hers, trying to soak up as much of her as he could. "I have to go, luv," he said, finally, stepping away. "You'll give Ava my best?"

She nodded, looking sad. "Aye."

Chibs waited until she was safely inside her truck and pulling out onto the highway before he revved his bike to life. He watched her disappear and then peeled out himself, feeling a bit stupid for laying rubber like a kid.

As he chased the sunset into Charming, something she'd said a long time ago floated back to him. _Welcome to Teller-Morrow, Scotty. I sure as hell hope you're in for the ride. _Yep, he had been. Still was.

He grinned as the wind hit him in the face and he twisted the throttle, letting the road take him home just a little faster.

**THE END**

* * *

**AN: Wow! That took a lot longer than I thought. I seriously hope this last chap didn't disappoint. They didn't exactly live happily ever after, but I still think it wasn't terribly depressing. Thank you so, so, so much to all of you who reviewed this story, I had trouble finding my footing with Chibs at first and your support meant a lot. **

**And here's where I ask for another opinion, I'm seriously thinking about writing a continuation of this after season 2 is over. It would start immediately after "Smite" – Gemma calls Maggie and tells her about the bomb and she comes home. I can just imagine all the messiness with Fiona and Jimmy O. Just let me know if anyone would be interested in that, I think it would be kinda fun to write.**

**~BC**


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